


a wish you tell a star and no one else

by feralphoenix



Series: you can only use your own [6]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Codependency, Disabled Character, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, backsliding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Worrying about the future has been familiar to you for the past while: It’s a little hard to ignore when your coronation is only months away instead of years. The underground feels stiflingly small at times, but there are a lot of monsters (and, okay, a handful of humans too) who live here, and those are an awful lot of people to feel responsible for.</i>
</p><p>Or: Asriel procrastinates on an important task, discovers the magic of friendship, and faces his upcoming coronation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a wish you tell a star and no one else

**Author's Note:**

> _(silence is my self defense_ – When a flower doesn’t bloom you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.)  
>   
> 
> this story is set four years after [the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6203974).
> 
> warnings for some backsliding wrt unhealthy relationship dynamics and discussion of all the usual stuff pertinent to chara (c-ptsd, anxiety, self-negativity, abuse, etc) and alphys (depression, suicidal ideation).
> 
> also look out for a brief incidence of Graphic Menses (tm) a la somebody out there. more detailed but also very, very spoilery warnings on this hosted off-site [here](http://feralphoenix.tumblr.com/wishyoutellastar).
> 
> wrt the "disabled character" tag, chara has chronic pain (among various other mild-to-moderate chronic health issues) as a result of their poisoning. see [somebody out there needs you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5431163) for details.

The big scientists’ and workers’ party to celebrate the completion of the Core was held yesterday in the formal ballroom—bright and triumphant and surprisingly informal for something your parents insisted that you wear your robes to. It lasted for hours, everyone sitting around and eating and swapping stories under the newly installed electric lights.

And it really deserved that much enthusiasm; Gaster and his team have been working on the Core since you were a teenager, and your parents have taught you all about how much of a difference it would make to harness the natural power resources of Mt. Ebott instead of relying on individual monsters’ magic to run everything. More energy to afford to more places will raise people’s quality of life, especially in the areas between the old capital and the new one, and the jobs that will come of maintaining the Core will promote a sense of purpose for monsters and hopefully cut down on the amount of your people who fall down each year. (You’re still proud of the small role you played in getting the cooling system set up.) Plus, people will be healthier if they can spare their magic instead of using it to light lamps all the time—you know your parents have more energy now that they don’t have to charge every light source in the house every day.

All in all it’s a big triumph for the kingdom of monsters—probably the second best development in your people’s imprisonment, after Chara fell and showed everyone firsthand that a future of coexistence was possible. (The other humans too, you amend mentally. It still feels unreal to have so many of them living here, though you can still count them all on one hand.) And a big triumph like that deserves a big party. You agree with that much.

But with all that said, it still feels like _this_ is the real afterparty—you and Chara and your parents, and Gaster and his children, all sitting at ease in the living room, eating a dinner fancy enough to be “nice” but not fancy enough to require any clothing more formal than your new sweater.

Chara sure seems to enjoy it more, anyway. They were a quiet shadow at your side at the bigger party, getting quieter and quieter as the hours wore on, their smile more and more strained. But here in your own home, they’re perfectly relaxed.

Some of that is probably due to _(sigh)_ Prase being here with them instead of mingling with the other scientists. But you also want to credit their little brothers’ presence—Gaster’s sons weren’t allowed to the big celebration. Here Sans is present to swap puns with Chara, and you’ve gotten out all your old favorite picture books to read to Papyrus.

Gaster seems happier and more relaxed, too; he reclines at the table between your parents, signing rapidly at both of them. It’s probably a relief, to not need an interpreter: Everybody here knows at least enough sign to keep up with him unless he decides to pull out the jargon—even you, finally.

You’ve relaxed, though, and your attention’s so taken up with Papyrus and with watching Chara that it baffles you for a moment when your mother taps a claw to her glass, making a ringing tone that echoes through the room and causes all of you to swing around to look at her.

“Dr. Gaster has an announcement to share,” she says, and both she and your father turn to smile at him fondly.

 _Thank you,_ Gaster says, inclining his skull to each of your parents in turn as he signs. _Now that my long-standing project has reached its completion, I would like to inform you all that within the next two years, I intend to retire from my position as the head Royal Scientist._

You think your mouth drops open a little. _Gaster,_ retiring? He’s been the Royal Scientist for as long as you can remember… you can’t imagine anyone else taking his place.

“After all the work you’ve done, your retirement will be well-deserved,” Chara says. They get nervous in front of big crowds, but there are times when they’re a lot more graceful than you in private. It’s admirable. You know they’ve got to be surprised too.

 _Thank you, Chara,_ Gaster replies to them, smiling. _I am sure that I will miss the work, but I will enjoy the extra time to spend with my children._

Sans and Papyrus both grin hugely. Both of them, and Prase too, show no surprise at this announcement. That makes sense, you guess. Them being family and all.

“Do you have a successor in mind?” Chara asks.

 _I do not,_ Gaster replies. Another surprise—you’d have thought for sure that Prase would be next in line for the position, unless them being a human and not being able to do magic means that they wouldn’t perform as well or something.

This is the point when you realize that both of your parents are looking at you meaningfully, and your stomach sinks. Oh, boy.

“Asriel,” says your father, “with your impending coronation in mind, we thought that it would be best to entrust the task of finding a successor to you.”

“This is a very important decision,” your mother adds. “We will be staying with you as your advisers for a few years, but even then the next Royal Scientist will primarily be working with you. You must choose an individual whom you know you can work with.”

You sigh a little, but you keep it on the inside instead of letting it show on your face. If you complain to anybody about this, it’ll be to Chara, and later; as it is now, you just bid a mournful goodbye to the idea that you’d be able to spend your last few months of Not Being King just enjoying your freedom from responsibility. “Okay, I understand.”

 _There is even more to it than that, I’m afraid,_ Gaster says, his expression mildly apologetic. _Your choice of Royal Scientist will determine what the department will be studying for their term as head. Everyone has their own fields of study; you would do well to choose someone who can tackle the problems or tasks that you wish to see addressed during your sovereignty._

“Once it comes out that the doctor will be retiring,” your father goes on, his words careful, “I would expect there to be a great deal of attention drawn to you and whoever you are considering. Our people are interested in what sort of leader you will be, my son. This is why we decided that you should have advance warning.”

“Hm,” you say. “I guess that does make sense.”

“It is a very big responsibility,” your mother says. “If you need help deciding, you may ask us for advice, and if you cannot choose someone we will do so, but all things considered, this is something that you should do on your own if you can.”

Chara and Prase are both watching you now—the former worried, the latter considering.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you promise.

“Good,” says your father. He smiles.

The atmosphere relaxes, then, and conversation turns to more innocuous things, but not even Papyrus’ enthusiasm over your old books can completely banish the specter of this new looming responsibility.

 

 

You keep thinking about it, despite all your best efforts.

Worrying about the future has been familiar to you for the past while: It’s a little hard to ignore when your coronation is only months away instead of years. The underground feels stiflingly small at times, but there are a lot of monsters (and, okay, a handful of humans too) who live here, and those are an awful lot of people to feel responsible for.

Becoming king is something you’ve been preparing for since you could walk and talk. Chara would probably say that you’ve never been readier for this in your life, and they would be right. But you were still hoping to be able to put the weight of the future off and just goof off and be the prince until you formally become king. You wanted the time to be able to revel in your selfishness to your heart’s content, and wear yourself out so that you’ll have no regrets when the time comes.

And so you feel a little resentful and sulky at this turn of events. You appreciate the advance warning, you guess, but would it have killed your mom and dad to lay off for just a _little_ while longer?

You let yourself wallow in self-pity for a little while and sigh.

Picking the next Royal Scientist is such a huge and terrifying prospect. The Core was Gaster’s pet project for basically his whole career; he’s been working on the plans and then the actual construction for your whole life, more or less. And naturally he and his helpers had to give it their undivided attention—because of the project’s scale, and because of how dangerous it was to set up. Above and beyond the risks of working with live magma, Gaster and his team were using science and magic that hardly anybody else could comprehend. If there had been any kind of mistake or accident along the way, it could’ve been catastrophic.

And whoever you choose, whatever they want to do, however they lead the other scientists… It’ll have far-reaching effects on the whole kingdom. You can’t even begin to imagine what kinds of things the scientists might want to do to improve your people’s lives, let alone what the consequences could be if their plans were to go wrong.

It feels like your mother’s just assigned you to write an essay on all your plans for the kingdom once you take the throne, except that it’s even worse because you have to demonstrate your nonexistent long-reaching plans by sifting through unknown elements to find the exact perfect one.

At least you have time, but by golly, that does not help the task feel any less impossible.

You sigh—here you are, back to feeling sorry for yourself—and turn your gaze from the opposite wall of your dark bedroom to look down at Chara, who’s stretched out on the mattress beside you where you sit. “What do you think?”

They grunt and open an eye. “About what?”

“You know,” you say, and shrug helplessly. “The whole picking a new Royal Scientist thing.”

Chara groans. They open their other eye and stare up at you with something like helpless disgust. “I cannot _believe_ you want to talk shop with me now. We can’t have turned the lights off more than half an hour ago. I’m trying to enjoy the last of this afterglow—I’m trying to go to _sleep._ Were you always this business-minded, o rising king?”

You roll your eyes and groan back. “Okay, I know, it’s bad timing. But I keep thinking about it and I can’t sleep. I—” You swallow your nervousness and your pride. “I want your opinion, Chara. You’ve gotten to sit in on a lot of official royal stuff for the past few years. You’re smart. A whole lot smarter than I am, when it comes to some things. And you’re my partner and all. I want to know what you think.”

They look up at you through all this, expression sliding slowly from annoyed to neutral. When you’re through, they sigh—and push themself up laboriously, raking their fingers through their hair to tuck it back behind their ears before they lean back against the headboard with you. They wince a little when they come into contact with the wood, and you pull a face in worry—hopefully it’s just that it’s cold on their bare skin, and not that their back’s hurting them.

You want to—to make them lay back down. Or at least cover them in blankets. They’re so _tiny_ next to you, even when you’re both sitting down. It scares you to death: You need them to be safe, to be secure, to be yours.

But you remember the night after they fought you and won—looking at the scores of little wounds _you_ had put on their body, and worse, the blank look on their face when seeing their scratched-up legs had made you cringe. That expression like it was _normal_ for people—for _you_ to hurt them like this. Like it was no big deal.

You never want to do that to them again. Even when memories of them wasting away and dying at ten years old snap vivid through your head, you have to trust them sometimes. You have to give them space, and trust that they’ll stay at your side of their own free will, because binding Chara to your whims can only make them miserable.

You’ve got to trust them.

Chara crosses their arms lightly under their breasts and looks at you, calm. “Do you have anyone in particular in mind yet?”

“Of course not,” you say. “I mean, there’s always Prase to go to as a fallback, but I don’t even know what my other options are.”

“You can’t choose Prase,” Chara tells you, authoritative and nonchalant. “They would be a terrible Royal Scientist.”

You raise your eyebrows at them. “I thought you’d want them to have the job. They’re your best friend and all.”

“They are,” Chara agrees. “That’s exactly why I can say that they aren’t cut out for this sort of job. Prase isn’t a leader. They’ll _react_ admirably to whatever crisis you put in front of them, but they hardly ever act on their own unless they’ve judged that it’s the perfect opportunity. They’re a good ally or supporter, but they need someone to pull them along; they’re not the type to forge ahead.

“Prase isn’t ambitious, either—they became their father’s assistant to help with the Core, not in hopes of launching any of their own projects. And their personality can be a bit—difficult to work with if you’re not used to them. Especially if they don’t like you.” Chara giggles. You make a face. “And anyway, I don’t know if you two would work very well together. The Royal Scientist will answer to and work most closely with you, after all. And I always got the impression that you and Prase don’t get along very well.”

“Uh,” you say, because there is really _really_ no good response to that.

Chara lowers their eyelids halfway and smirks at you. “Ree, you cannot expect me to have not noticed. Not even _I’m_ stupid enough to fail to pick up on that after watching you two interact for eleven years.”

“I can’t speak for _them,”_ you say defensively, “but I was trying to keep it, y’know, not obvious because I didn’t want to upset you sniping at your best friend.”

“Which is very sweet of you,” Chara acknowledges. They pull themself up on your arm to kiss your cheek, and then resettle in their seat. “Anyway, that’s my honest opinion—Prase isn’t a good choice. You would do better with someone else, if you can find them.” They lean against you, now. “It makes me happy that you want my input, Asriel. I like being able to help when I can.”

“I know,” you say, and lean down to kiss their forehead. “If I’m considering anybody else you know, I’ll ask you about them too. You’re my partner, so… it’s your business too.”

“Mm,” Chara says, and closes their eyes. “And, Asriel—since I am your partner, I will tell you this, too: You’ve done what you can for tonight. What you need to do now is get your rest, because tomorrow will be busy. Stop thinking for a while and go to sleep.”

“Easier said than done,” you sigh.

Chara opens an eye a crack and quirks a brow at you. “I am very tired myself,” they say, “but I’ll help, as long as we keep it quick.”

They reach up and get your face between their hands, and tug you down into their warm kiss. It sends a shiver all through you, and you wrap your arms around their small soft body, pulling them even closer.

“Landsakes,” you say up against their mouth, and they snort.

 

 

You spend most of the next morning helping your mother with paperwork, and then the early afternoon practicing with your father, Chara, Innig, and the newly-appointed captain of the Royal Guard.

(Surreptitiously, you asked your father if there even _was_ a captain for the Royal Guard before Undyne; he answered that there hasn’t been one since Gerson retired—in the interim, they all apparently reported to your mother, who you learn was a respected general when your parents were young and monsters still lived on the surface. This left you gobsmacked for a good few moments; then you realized that you could picture it easily, and you wondered why you never considered it before. It wasn’t like your parents were _always_ the rulers of monsterkind. Heck, it’s not like they’ve always been married, even.)

(Your father patted your shoulder with some amusement, and told you that your mother was as breathtaking back then as she is now.)

So between the mental workout and the physical one, you’ve put in quite a lot of work for one day. And that means that if you’d rather accompany Chara and their friends on their walk through Waterfall, it’s not procrastinating at all. It’s just a well-deserved break.

“I cannot _believe_ that all my friends have already gone and become Royal Guards without me,” Innig says, mock-sad, reaching up with an elegant hand to wipe away an imaginary tear.

“Rules are rules,” Chara says, shrugging. “Asgore says that you have to be at least fifteen, so you’ll have to wait until your next birthday.” They giggle a little, a sound just this side of unkind that makes your heart flipflop as you watch their slow smile. “You can at least take pride in the fact that you’re already taller than Rufus, and him three years older than you.”

“This is true,” Innig agrees. Her grin’s dazzling in her dark face. She still likes to wear ballet shoes and dresses everywhere, even underneath the weighted harness your father’s having her exercise in to prepare for the light armor she’ll wear when she’s actually accepted as a Guard. But the look suits her somehow. It’s not the same as the way that Chara is blindingly beautiful no matter what they’re wearing because it’s Chara and you love them and beautiful is just what they _are,_ but there’s an elegance to Innig’s combination of thin gauzy skirts and fake leather, of muscled arms and tiny pearl earrings.

“You’re all still short stuff to _me,”_ you say, and smile winningly. Chara leans in and shoves you with their shoulder.

“Maybe don’t count on that for _too_ long, you punk,” Undyne retorts, offering you one of her uniquely toothy grins.

Privately, you think she has a point: She’s still only sixteen, not done growing in the slightest, but she’s already as tall as your shoulder. Her ascent and Innig’s both have been pretty impressive over the past four years. But even so, neither of them have anything on you yet—even fully grown you’re not quite as tall as your father, but you’re respectably close. Only the really big monsters have a hope of outgrowing you.

“It’ll be good to have you when you _can_ officially join, though,” Undyne says to Innig. “It’s not this bad with the Snowdin guards, but the Hotland ones? Royal Guards 01 and 02 are constantly dancing around each other, and I don’t know what 03 and 04’s deal is but I hope they figure it out since they specifically requested to be stationed together and all. Rufus is the only sensible guy I’ve got around! We need more people who can be trusted to keep their heads on straight!!”

Innig snickers. “I’ll do my best.”

“Keep giving it your all in training,” Chara says drily. “Maybe if you manage to land a hit on Asgore he’ll make you Undyne’s lieutenant early.”

“I wish. I still don’t even know how she did that. Not even _you_ can do that, and you’re a grown-up.”

“I plead the excuse of my terrible knees and lungs,” Chara replies, shrugging. “But then I was never aiming for the Royal Guard anyway. Being this one’s honor guard is more than enough for me.” And they jerk a thumb at you, smiling.

You catch their hand in yours, and bring it up to your mouth to kiss their knuckles. They giggle and pull away.

Undyne and Innig just look at each other and shake their heads in unison.

“Absolutely disgusting,” Innig says.

“…ly adorable!” Undyne finishes.

“Oh, shut up,” Chara says, their ears going pink.

The four of you pass into the brighter quiet spot, and Chara slows to a stop, stretching. Their joints pop audibly, and you wince.

“You about ready to take a break?” Undyne asks.

“I believe so,” they reply. “I’ll be all right—I’m just tired. I’ll head back to New Home when I’m rested.”

“Cool,” says Undyne. “Innig and me are gonna keep going and meet up with Rufus. You gonna come with us or stay with Chara?” she asks you.

“I’ll stay,” you reply. “Just in case.”

She nods, and—to your surprise—reaches out to clap you warmly on the upper arm before tousling Chara’s hair. “Hang in there, man,” she says to you. And to Chara: “If you guys need extra cushions or whatever you can mooch them from my house, alright?”

Innig taps a finger to her chin. “If Liron isn’t helping Gerson look after the store right now, ze might be with Napstablook already. Ze’s quiet, so I don’t think ze’s going to cause trouble, but… you don’t know each other too well yet, so I thought you might want advance warning that you might run into hir there.”

You turn and look to Chara. “I know it’s interrupting your exercise routine, but we can take the Riverperson’s ferry straight home if you need it,” you offer. “You’re really diligent as it is, so you can afford to cut one day’s workout short for the sake of staying safe if you don’t feel up to it.”

They make a face. “I’ve seen Liron before, and ze _is_ quiet, so between you and Napstablook I think I’ll be all right.” They cross their arms over their chest and pick at their sleeves. Their shoulders are slumped and weak, but their gaze is pointed when they look at you. “I can handle myself, Ree.”

Deep breath. “I know,” you say, and smile. “I’m going to be here anyway, just in case. We’ll probably just wind up going back when you’re ready to, but I can still help you get out in the off chance things don’t go well.”

You don’t have a lot of faith in your own wording—it’s sensitive ground, and you still do have to _make_ yourself step back and not smother a lot of the time. But Chara relaxes a little, and they unfold their arms, reaching for your right hand with their left. “Thank you,” they say.

“Long as things are okay here,” Undyne says. She looks unconcerned, though. “You punks have got our numbers, call us if you need anything.”

Chara smiles, small but soft. “Go meet up with Rufus, milady captain—the prince and I will be fine.”

She cocks her chin back and rolls her eye, grinning all the while. “Yeah, whatever, nerd. See you later.”

And off she and Innig go, leaving the quiet spot through the tunnel in the opposite direction. Chara reaches out and takes your hand.

“Let’s go,” they say, and you nod and let them lead the way.

Napstablook answers the door almost as soon as Chara has knocked. They’re the same as ever—their expression a little nervous, big black headphones on their head. Faint spookwave is already playing from inside their house.

“Oh………” they mumble. “Hi, Chara……… I didn’t know if you’d be coming today……”

They smile at the ghost, a gentle expression that you’re pretty sure that only you can differentiate from the smiles they give you because the undertone of heat is gone. “Of course I am,” they say. “Hanging out with you in the middle is one of my favorite parts of taking walks.”

“Oh,” says Napstablook, their cheeks shining with a ghostly blush. “Oh, gee… Well….. come on in……… I hope it’s okay that we’ve already got company………”

Chara squeezes your hand a bit, but their expression never wavers. “I don’t mind.”

Just as Napstablook warned you, Innig’s new sibling is indeed already lying on a cushion on their living room floor, eyes closed. You take the opportunity to look Liron over, since you’ve never been this close to hir before, but… honestly, the impression is about the same as when you watched your parents and Gerson talking about moving hir in with Gerson and Innig. Hir dark brown hair is a mess, hir big round glasses are so oversized it’s kind of cute, and hir striped brown sweater’s turtleneck covers half hir face. Ze appears to be sleeping, if the deep and rhythmic rise and fall of hir flank is any indication.

Chara’s grip on your hand tightens again, but their expression isn’t strained, and they’re not shaking. You guess they really are okay with this.

…You know you should be glad for them, but your feelings are a little bit mixed. Chara being upset is upsetting, but you like the part where you get to be the one to comfort and gentle them into calmness again. You like being able to reassure them that they’ll be okay, and them believing you where they might not believe anyone else.

You tell yourself that you’ll just have to deal with it, but the murky resentment and the childish urge to sulk linger as you sit down against the wall and let Chara rest their upper body in your lap. You bite your tongue.

Usually Napstablook’s music mixing is pretty soothing, even if it’s not your thing. But today you keep looking from Liron sleeping on the other side of the house to Chara’s serene expression and getting shaken away from that sense of tranquility just before you’re able to grasp it.

This isn’t fair. All you wanted to do was take a break from having to worry about the whole new Royal Scientist thing, and now you can’t even relax because Chara doesn’t need you as much anymore, which is _stupid_ and probably unfair to them, and _now_ you’re thinking about what you’re supposed to be doing too and you want to _scream._

“Ree, are you okay?” Chara asks from your lap, and you just about jump out of your skin.

They’re looking up at you now instead of dozing off, red eyes steady on your face, lines of worry between their eyebrows.

“I…” you begin, and then trail off. “Huh?”

“You’re fidgeting with your hands a lot,” they point out, and you become aware that you’re currently drumming your fingertips on their shoulder. Your face heats up. You hold them still. “You seem… stressed. Do you need to take another walk and cool off?”

You can’t stop yourself from cringing. “But you need to rest,” you whine. “And you’re… I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re not comfortable or in case you have to leave.”

Chara scoots up against you so that they’re sitting almost upright, leaned into your chest. They lift a hand and stroke your face; you try not to slump into the gesture too obviously.

“I’ll be alright,” they murmur. “I’ve got my phone, I can call you if I need you. Please, take care of yourself too. I think I can handle myself for long enough that you can get out of here for a little while.” You must still seem uncertain, because they twist around and take your face in both hands now, bringing your face down so that they can kiss you. It’s brief, but their mouth pressed to yours sends heat and then something gentler thrilling all through you. “The whole point of all this, or at least part of the point, was to get me to a place where you can step away and look after your own needs instead of stressing yourself to look after me. You’re good, and you’re strong. It’s okay to be good to and strong for yourself instead of me sometimes.”

You hold them so close they squeak a little, and then a bit tighter, but you loosen your grip as soon as they start to squirm. Then you pout down at them, and sigh. “You’re making it really hard to argue.”

Chara rolls their eyes. “Ree, I’m okay. Liron’s asleep. Ze’s not bothering me. I can go mooch some pillows from Undyne’s house to lay on.” They pull themself up on your shirt and kiss you again, a quick peck on the nose. “You go take a walk and blow off some steam. I promise I’ll call if anything happens.”

“What are you going to tell Napstablook?” you challenge. It’s a weak challenge.

“That you’re too worked up to enjoy their DJing properly and you’re going to get a breath of fresh air so that you can,” they answer.

You’re out of excuses for good this time. So you just groan a little and indicate for Chara to back up so that you can get to your feet.

“I will be back soon, I swear,” you tell them.

They smile and lean into your chest for just a moment. “I know,” they say. “Now go.”

And just like that, you’re exiled. (Not really—you leave on your own two feet—it’s just that thinking of it like that feels more dramatic and lets you feel sorrier for yourself.)

Much as you hate to admit it, Chara is right—you’re definitely too wound up to sit still. You need to walk—heading towards Snowdin is out because you don’t want to run into Undyne and Innig and have to explain why you left Chara alone, and you also definitely don’t want to head towards Hotland either because it would feel like going home and thus _really_ ditching Chara and running away (plus chancing running into your parents maybe, which—yikes).

This leaves you with the dump. It strikes you as vaguely poetic, which is irritating—but hey, maybe you’ll at least find something cool there to make up for how terrible today has been.

You head down the slope and wade through the shallow standing water, making your way towards the fall. Cursory glances at the piles of junk don’t show you anything interesting, but the big heap all the way in rarely lets you down, so you keep going.

Once you get near the bend, though, you start hearing rustling noises, and you frown as you perk your ears to listen. Have you got company today?

You turn the corner, and—oh wow. You actually do.

A monster you don’t know is standing on tiptoe, trying to reach for what you _think_ is a microwave hull or something on the top of one of the piles. Emphasis on _trying—_ you can tell at a glance that their head will only come up to your waist, maybe a little higher. They’re yellow and reptilian, a little squat, with stumpy arms and legs and a short tail that protrudes from beneath their skirt and a pointed frill that’s elegant in a way that really ought to be more incongruous than it is.

They’re wearing a sailor suit, which is the uniform at the high school in Hotland, so they’re probably somewhere between 15 and 18. They’ve got big round glasses that actually kind of look like Liron’s, and there are grease stains on their hands.

“Uh,” you say by way of announcing yourself, “can I help you get that?”

The monster jumps and squawks a little, whirling, and you take an involuntary half step back and hold both hands up.

“I’m sorry!” you babble. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Gosh. I should’ve been louder or something.”

“I-I’m sorry,” they babble back, wringing their claws. “I-I should’ve been p-paying attention.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “But, uh, is it alright if I help? I mean it’s one of the only good things about being this tall, heh, I can actually reach the top of these piles now.”

Lizard monster messes with their tie for a moment, looking unsure. They have buck teeth, you notice, which is sort of adorable. “If—if you really really d-don’t mind,” they say at last.

You grin at them and step over loose bits of plank walkway to stand beside them. “’Course not. Which one were you after? This microwave thing?”

“Yes,” they say. You shift from side to side briefly, trying to gauge how best to remove it without causing any avalanches, and then lift it carefully up. It’s lighter than you expected, but still pretty heavy, and you warn them of this as you take it down for them.

“T-thank you,” they say, and hold both hands out to accept it. “For the, um, the, the help and for the warning t-too. I’ll manage.”

They set the microwave on the walkway instead of trying to hold it—you’re kind of glad, because you’re not sure if they could hold it up forever but also you don’t really want to offer to hold it either—it’s kind of dirty and you’d feel weird having to borrow Undyne’s washing machine for a couple hours to clean your sweater afterwards.

“What’re you gonna use it for?” you ask, pointing at it. “Did you just really want a microwave and get lucky?”

The monster smiles a little. They stand a bit straighter. “No—um! It’s f-for a bit of a project. I have this friend and I’m g-going to make him something. I-it’s still not quite what I’d like t-to do, but it’s a start.”

“That’s really cool,” you tell them.

They blush. “Y-you think so?”

“Yeah!” you reply. “I come here a lot to see if there’s anything neat I can scavenge for me or my parents or my partner, but I can’t make anything new out of what I find. I don’t know anything about tinkering—it’s really impressive you can do that, gosh.”

“O-oh,” they say, and clap their claws to their face. “W-wow, that’s… that’s really nice of you to say.”

“Do you have anybody helping you, or do you do everything all by yourself?”

“Uh—um,” they say. “M-mostly by myself. I-I mean, especially this… it’s a surprise a-and all, so…”

“Have you got everything you need for it?” you ask, the beginnings of an idea taking shape in your mind.

They frown, scratching their chin studiously. “P-probably not. Even for the prototype, I need more materials, really. I need a _lot_ more metal if I want the body to be as big as my original drafts call for, and…” Their voice trails off. “I-I’m sorry. This is p-probably boring.”

“No, no—actually, I was thinking…” You fumble in your pants pocket for your phone. “I come by here a lot, between one thing and another. If you ever need help with something big or out of your reach again, or if you want somebody to hold and carry stuff for your secret project itself… Well, I’d be happy to help you if that’s okay.”

Their frown deepens, and they start to wring their claws again. “W-well—well, it um, not to say that it wouldn’t be—be very helpful b-but I’m sure you have i-important things t-to do and all and… w-why me?”

You take a moment to think about it.

“Well… gosh, I mean, I just like to help,” you say. “And I’ve got… some stressful stuff going on in my own life, so being able to listen to somebody’s directions and help with something I bet is worthwhile will make me feel better. I guess it’s kinda selfish. But also…” You think about everything you’ve found here in the dump. About Chara’s favorite book, about how they cried when you found it for them. About Chara themself. “People on the surface… they throw away a lot of things that they shouldn’t. A lot of really good things. So when I see somebody picking up that stuff and putting it to good use… letting it have another chance… uh, maybe it’s kind of sentimental, but I like people who do that.”

They stare at you for a long, long while, with only the roar of the waterfall in the backdrop.

Then they break out into a hesitant, sort of goofy smile, and stick their hand out towards you, an abrupt gesture that makes you blink.

“I’m Alphys,” they say. “W-what’s your name?”

You open your mouth to reply, and then they jerk their hand back. “I-I’m sorry!! That was a weird t-time to ask something like that, w-wasn’t it…”

“Heck no,” you say, grinning, and you hold your hand out to them instead. “I’m Asriel.”

Their mouth drops open, and they make another shrill noise. “You—but??”

“Haha, I look pretty different when I’m not in robes, I know,” you say, your face heating up, scratching the back of your head.

“I-is,” they sputter. “I-is this really—o-okay? L-like I’m n-not… I’m not d-distracting you from y-your important d-duties or…”

“Aw, I wouldn’t offer if you were,” you say. It’s only a white lie. “I really do think that what you’re doing is cool. You can turn me down if I’m just being a pest, though.”

They scrunch their mouth to the side for a long moment, narrowing their eyes.

“J-just don’t actually c-call me ever, I r-really hate t-talking on the phone,” they warn. “T-text me if there’s anything you n-need.”

“That’s okay with me,” you say. “Uhh… you know what pronouns I use, what d’you like for yourself?”

“She,” Alphys says. She holds out her hand. “I-it’s p-probably faster if y-you let me enter m-my number. T-tell me yours too?”

“Sure,” you say, and hand her your phone. “Need any help getting the microwave to where you’ve got to go?”

“P-probably not,” she says. “I-I just have to take it to the, the Riverperson a-and then use the elevator to g-get home.”

“Okay,” you say. “I should probably get back to Chara soon anyway, they’re gonna wonder where I got to. It was really nice to meet you though, Alphys. Let me know if you ever need anything, and I hope this part of the project goes well.”

“Y-you too,” she says, and blushes. “I-I mean!!! I mean i-it was nice to meet you t-too and oh god I’m j-just d-digging myself deeper at this point.”

“Gosh, it’s okay,” you say. “I do the same thing all the dang time.”

She laughs. It’s the brightest you’ve yet seen her, and for some reason it makes you happy just hearing such a cheerful noise.

 

 

The next day, you visit Gaster’s lab to take a look at his assistants and the work they’re doing. You put your task off for one day, so it’s only right for you to put in at least a little bit of effort so that you don’t dig yourself into a hole too deep to get out of later.

The laboratory is near the bridge between Waterfall and Hotland, down a whole lot of elevators. It has two floors aboveground and a lot of experiment rooms in the basement, and there are a ton of monsters who work there. It’s air conditioned, which is probably good for the workers, but coming here straight from outside where it’s hot and humid makes you sneeze. You’re not too fond of the pale sterile color scheme here either, when it’s so bright and bold outside, but since you don’t actually work here you guess you don’t have a right to whine. Maybe you’re just biased because your childhood home and your current one both have warm furnishings, all in your mother’s favorite ochres and your father’s soft silvers.

Gaster gives you a brief tour, guiding you through the messy rooms where you’ve heard Prase complain via Chara that he spent a great deal of his time sleeping when the Core was nearing completion. He shows you to the generators, the AV room, the areas where various parts of the Core were assembled, even to the fan room, which is a little uncomfortably chilly even for you. (You try to sneeze surreptitiously on the way out and are pretty sure you fail, judging by Gaster’s silent chuckle.)

There aren’t actually that many workers here today. Most of them are still relaxing at home, you suppose, since there’s nothing so work-intensive going on right now. Either that, or they’re at the Core itself, overseeing its workings from inside its great mechanical guts. There’s a shortcut through it to the castle, but you rarely take it—you just can’t get used to the smell of ozone, and the lack of handrails in some areas makes you nervous.

Prase is here, though, in the basement lobby, sitting cross-legged on one of the hospital beds pushed up against the wall that you think was used when your parents had Chara come here for check-ups when they’d only just arrived in the underground. Their hair’s up in a bun with tiny braids coiled tightly around it, their old ribbon keeping it all fastened; they’re hunched over a laptop, tapping at the keyboard with one hand while they play with that old plastic knife of theirs in the other, occasionally lifting it to bite the tip. Maybe they feel you staring, because after a while, they look up and raise the hand they kept on the keyboard to wiggle their fingers at you in a half-sarcastic greeting. You lift one hand lazily to acknowledge it, and then let it drop back to your side as they return their attention to whatever they’re doing.

Gaster leads you back to the elevator then, and sends his interested assistants to you one by one.

There are only a handful of them: A small monster with a very round head and rounded limbs, one with very googly eyes and hair that stands up straight as if they just stuck a finger in an electrical outlet, a large monster with a bent-over body. You ask them polite questions about how long they’ve been working as Gaster’s assistants, what they were in charge of while working on the Core, if they have any areas of research they’d like to pursue.

Two of them just want to continue to work in energy. One is interested in expanding the caverns downwards, trying to get more room for monsters that way. All of these things might be mildly to moderately helpful to your people, but so far no one stands out amongst the others, and none of their ideas really excite you.

You thank them politely for their time and tell them that you’ll keep them in mind anyway. If nobody else shows up with any really fantastic ideas, you’ll follow up with them.

Somehow this manages to take up most of your day, and by the time you get back home you’re exhausted. Your mother makes snail soup for you all special, which she rarely does anymore because Chara’s stomach is still too weak to handle snail-heavy dishes. You confide your failures to her, and she recommends that you take notes on who you’ve spoken to and your impressions on them for future use. You spend most of the wait for dinner to be ready following her directions.

Your father and Chara come back in when you’re about wrapped up, and you listen to their tales of training and what the Royal Guard is up to instead. When they smell snail soup, Chara gets disappointed—for a little while, at least, until your mother announces to them that they’ll get to have potato and mushroom soup instead. They perk up again quickly after that.

You check your phone surreptitiously right before you eat. No texts from Alphys yet. Maybe it’s forward, but you slowly and carefully send her a message saying howdy and asking how the microwave is working out. Then you turn your phone off, because otherwise you’ll check it anxiously and excitedly all night.

To help distract yourself after dinner, you offer to massage Chara’s legs for them. They give your shoulders a good rub when you’re done, and you relax under their hands, sinking into their soft firm touch like a warm bath.

At least the hours you two spend in each other’s arms are still comforting.

 

 

You wake the next morning curled up around them, with their arm slung over your waist.

They went and got a warm sleepshirt after you were done fooling around last night, and it’s ridden up to bare their stomach by now, stray strands of your fur caught in the fabric. The white flecks against the black match the silvery stripes in their hair, which are thicker than they’ve ever been. They’ve got a little bit more muscle than they used to—their arms and middle seem a little firmer, compared to your memories—but they’re still recognizably Chara, still soft.

You wouldn’t mind just staying here and watching them as they sleep for a while longer, but you have things to do and so do they, so you lean in and kiss their temple to wake them.

Chara groans. “It had better not be as early as it feels like.”

“It’s not,” you answer them. “It’s about time for us to get up anyway.”

“I hate morning practice,” they grouse, nuzzling their whole face into your chest so that your heart does a flip. “Hate it. Lemme sleep.”

“I know,” you say, kissing the top of their head. “But you need to exercise to stay in shape and protect your delicate partner from the terrible threat of potential malicious humans one day. You’ve got to stay tough and strong the way that you are now.”

“I can’t tell whether you’re being facetious or sincere,” Chara says flatly, voice muffled in your fur.

“A little bit of both,” you answer truthfully. “Come on, we’ve got to get up and get dressed so that we can get your medicine and breakfast before we head out.”

They whine, but all the same, they release you and wriggle out of your arms. You try not to stare too much at their naked lower half as they stump over to the wardrobe, open it, and look critically through the clothes there. You only sort of succeed. It’s not particularly because you want them (though you do, you want them all the time) as much as because there’s something really cute about their lack of caring, the way their pajama shirt is hitched up on one side but falls lazily over their other hip.

You sit up your own self while they dig out clothes, and when they sit on the edge of the bed to put their braces and their underwear on, you take your own turn at the closet: You just have a lot of exercise and sit-down work today, so you get out an older pair of pants and sweater instead of your robes.

Only once your clothes are on does it occur to you to turn your phone back on. You know better than to expect anything from Alphys—you’re still practically strangers, she might be nervous talking to you now that she knows you’re the prince—but you still hold your breath as you tap the on button with a claw.

And you raise your eyebrows, because according to the popup in the middle of your screen, she really _did_ reply. In detail.

You set the phone down again, though, because for now making sure that Chara doesn’t skip their meds is most important.

 

 

“Asriel,” your mother says to you in That Tone over the breakfast table—the one that makes you jump guiltily even now that you’re grown. “Put your phone away during meals, at least when the rest of us are conversing. It is not polite unless we are all doing something else.”

“Yes, Mom,” you say meekly, and type _got to eat brb_ at Alphys before turning your phone off to remove the temptation.

Your parents go back to talking about chores and politics, and you try to listen this time as you cut up your pancakes. Chara is watching you with a neutral expression, their gaze intense; when they catch you looking at them, they point unobtrusively at the phone and raise their eyebrows, a silent question. You shake your head and tilt your muzzle at your parents, and they nod, accepting your promise to explain later.

Politics and chores are both incredibly uninteresting to you—at least when the chores don’t have anything to do with you and the politics are local boring stuff that won’t help you with the decision you have to make. You watch Chara’s elegant fingers instead, the way they fold around their utensils, fading scars crinkling their skin one way or another as they manipulate knife and fork.

“What are you looking at,” they say in an undertone.

“You,” you answer, and reach out to touch the back of their hand. “You’re pretty.”

Chara shudders briefly underneath your touch. When you bring your gaze back up to their face, you lose your breath: Their pupils are blown out, the red of their irises impossibly dark, their habitual blush darkening.

“Flatterer,” they say lightly, and set their knife down to fold their hand into yours. It’s so small that their wrist lies across your palm when they wind their fingers through yours: Their heartbeat thrums rapid there like wingbeats, and your own pulse speeds up to match it.

You open your mouth, a question you’ve wanted to ask for years rising in your throat, but when you look away from Chara you see your parents sitting at the table with you and close your jaws with a soft but emphatic click. You’re an idiot, trying to jump the gun like this when you haven’t even properly prepared.

(That’s one more thing that you ought to start working on, you can’t help but think. Your coronation, picking the new Royal Scientist, and now this… there’s no end to your responsibilities now. Best get used to that while you can, you suppose, before you’re really overrun.)

“Oh look, Gorey,” your mother remarks brightly. “The children are having a moment.”

Both you and Chara jump, whipping around to your parents—you make to drop Chara’s hand, but they squeeze yours instead, so you can’t.

Your father chuckles. “I do understand the urge,” he says, “but you have a long day ahead of you both, so you must eat breakfast, or you will not be able to concentrate properly while you’re training.”

“Yes, Asgore,” Chara mumbles, and they let go of you and go back to picking at their food.

“It probably is not the best manners to have a moment in the middle of a meal, either,” your mother adds.

You stare at her rebelliously from the corner of your eye. “You and Dad do it all the time,” you complain.

She gives you an incredibly unamused look.

“He is not exactly wrong,” your father says, his voice mild. Your mother turns the unamused look on him, and he holds both hands up in a placating gesture.

“See, look,” you go on, hardly believing your own boldness. “You’re having a moment right now.”

Both of them turn to look at you as one—your father’s eyes twinkling, your mother’s brow flat. Beside you, Chara grips your sweater sleeve earnestly.

“Shut up while you’re ahead,” they tell you, and you clue into the undertone of anxiety to their words at the exact same moment you realize their fingers are shaking.

Your mother’s annoyed expression and your father’s amused one both smooth out almost immediately into worry and regret, and you wrap your arm around Chara’s shoulders.

“I am not truly angry, my dear,” she reassures them. “I am sorry. We took the joke a little too far.”

Chara sighs. “I—know,” they say, eyes downcast. “I’m just. Overreacting.”

“You are not, and it’s alright,” your mother tells them, quiet.

They don’t respond. You rub their shoulder bracingly.

“Let’s go do the dishes when you finish eating,” you suggest. Chara nods quietly and returns to their pancakes. You stuff the rest of yours in your face and chew and swallow them as quickly as you can without choking, stacking all the empty plates up together so that you can carry them out quickly. As soon as they’re done, you put theirs on top and stand up, walking with them to the kitchen side by side.

You scrub; they rinse and dry, setting each dish in the rack when they finish up. Their hands shake; they list into your shoulder when they have nothing to work on. But they don’t drop or break a single thing.

Once all the morning’s dishes are gleaming in the drying rack, you turn to Chara, and they slump weakly into your chest, hiding their face in your sweater, holding you loosely. They seem as helpless, as fragile, as they’ve ever been; you want to scoop them up and cuddle them, but you don’t want to overwhelm them and scare them again.

“I hate this,” they say, voice faint. “I thought I was getting _better.”_

“You are,” you tell them, automatic.

“I was all right with Liron the other day,” they go on, miserable, as if they never even heard you. “And this is Toriel. I’m supposed to know that she’s safe.”

You stroke their back, shushing them. “It’s okay. It doesn’t work like that. You _are_ getting better. You’re safe, it’s okay, and you’re stronger than you think.”

“It’s not just that I’m—scared,” they say, a little louder now, spitting out the last as though it’s a curse. “I’m frustrated with myself. Angry.”

“I love you,” you say, because you don’t know what else _to_ say. Then you rally. “You’re too hard on yourself, Chara. You’re amazingly strong. You can still kick my butt any day of the week, I bet. And it’s not just that, you keep standing up and trying to do what you think is right for me and you and everybody even when you’re having bad days. You’re doing just fine.”

They’re quiet for a little while, and then they reach up and frame your face in their warm small hands, pulling you down so that your mouth meets theirs.

Their kiss is warm. Fierce. It’s the kind of kiss that’s filled with a million different things that the other person can’t put into words, so many things that they’re drowning in them, and you try to drink down Chara’s desperation. They’re vibrating in your arms, all frenetic energy with no place to go but out.

Both of you are gasping by the time they pull away. Their eyes are bright on your face as they speak:

“I want to be with you.”

Their tone brooks no ambiguity as to what they mean.

“Mom and Dad are right in the other room,” you say, trying to keep your voice as low as you can. “This kitchen hasn’t got a door to close.”

“We can go to our room then,” Chara says, firm. “Please. Loving you makes me feel stronger.”

You ought to be the bigger monster and tell them no, that this is a bad idea—remind them that they’re shaky with adrenaline and that sex will only make them feel better for a little while, until the afterglow wears off. But they’re warm and soft leaned up against your chest, and their mouth is flushed from being pressed up to yours, and there’s something in their eyes that makes you feel like this is different from the handful of times you’ve tried to turn to one another because you don’t know what else to do.

So: “Are you sure?” you ask, a compromise. “We’ve got lessons after this. You’re going to be tired and sore.”

Chara smiles. “Then we just have to make sure that I won’t be sore,” they say. “I’m always tired anyway.” They strain up on tiptoe to kiss you again. “I’m sure, Ree.”

You wrap your arms around them and rest your chin atop their head, closing your eyes. “Okay, Chara.”

 

 

It’s brief, but it’s as slow and gentle as you’ve ever been with each other.

You close your eyes and support Chara in both arms, listening carefully to their uneven breathing, marking their rapid pulse everywhere your bodies touch.

They don’t let go of your hand the whole time.

 

 

Between Chara dozing off and both of you needing to clean up, you show up late enough to your father’s lesson that Undyne has already left to meet the rest of the guard, and only Innig is still there, doing one-on-one practice with him. Chara and your father both seem unconcerned, but you can feel shame heating up your cheeks. You ought to have discouraged Chara gently. You don’t want them to risk more disappointment from your parents, or to think that they might be even if that’s not really the case.

Your father tells you both to wait until he’s done with Innig, that he’ll oversee Chara’s daily exercises next, and sends the two of you to wait at the wall. Chara props their elbows on their knees and their face in their hands and watches; since they’re not much for conversation, you take your phone out and finally turn it back on.

 _Back now oops_ , you text.

 _Lol that was a pretty long breakfast break,_ Alphys responds almost immediately.

 _Stuff happened,_ you send her, and then you frown. _Isnt today a school day?_

There’s a pause, and then: _Yes but I’m done w/my work so it’s fine_

Something seems slightly strange about this, but it’s not like you’ve ever been to public school, so it’s not like you could call her on it. _Ok,_ you send. _Hows the mystery invention coming along?_

 _Still need more metal and some more monitors v.v,_ Alphys texts back. _Hopefully the humans will have some they need to get rid of soon lol =^.^;=_

 _Hopefully,_ you send back, and return your phone to your pants pocket.

“Who are you talking to?” Chara asks from beside you. Their voice is low, but you still jump nearly a mile. “I’ve never seen you send this many texts before. I thought you hated texting.”

“Um, yeah, I do kind of,” you say, massaging your chest in hopes that your heart will calm down a little. “I get anxious waiting for replies and my fingers are way too big for all these little keys, so I’m always making typos and have to backspace.”

“Hmmm,” says Chara. “So who is this who’s convinced you to text instead of calling?”

They aren’t to be deterred, you note. Honestly, you should expect nothing less of Chara.

“I met this kid who goes to school in Hotland the other day at the dump,” you explain. “She was trying to get a microwave from higher than she could reach, so I helped, and we wound up talking for a while. I said I’d be happy to help if she has trouble scavenging again, too—she’s building something for some friend of hers with all the junk she finds.”

“Hmm,” Chara says again. You’re honestly not sure how to read their expression—you hardly ever see them do _this_ with their eyebrows. Actually, you think you see this kind of face more on Prase. They look weirdly uncertain, some mix of warring emotions you can’t fathom implied by their slight squint and the way they pull their mouth to one side.

“Anyway, I texted her to make sure things were working okay, and then we just sort of… kept talking,” you go on. “Her name’s Alphys. She’s kind of nerdy and I honestly don’t understand half her explanation of her project, but she’s nice.”

“Mmm,” is all Chara says. The lines between their eyebrows have deepened, and you notice that they’ve gotten their locket out from under their shirt collar, turning the heart over and over between their fingers so that it glitters in the faint sunlight.

It can’t be. No _way._

But they keep playing with the locket, and wonder pushes the words out of your mouth before you have a chance to swallow them: “Chara, are you… _jealous?”_

They breathe in sharply, but they don’t answer right away. They turn from you slightly, gaze pointed upwards at the ceiling. “Maybe just a little,” they admit. “I’m not used to you talking to other people this much in your personal time, so it caught me off guard.” And now they turn back towards you, and they smile, even if the expression is a little pained. “So I’m glad for you, too. It’s nice to have more friends.”

Your stomach turns over, a little. “Friends…” you repeat, looking at your feet. “I don’t know if she really considers me her friend. We only just met the other day.”

“Maybe you should try to make friends with her, then,” they say, and pat your shoulder. “Knowing you, you must like her a lot to be willing to suffer texting to communicate with her.”

Heat rushes into your face and chest, and you curl up like you’re a kid again—too shy to try to break down the barriers of politeness and status between you and your subjects yourself, and with no one willing to break them down for you except for Chara, who came from a place where your status never meant anything. “I guess,” you say.

They curl up next to you, shaky. You wonder what it is they’re holding in. The desire to order you not to talk to Alphys anymore, maybe, or a plea that you not leave them alone. It’s so weird, being in this position, after all the time you spent terrified that Chara would be the one to leave _you_ for all _their_ new friends.

It’s also weirdly embarrassing, watching Chara at least _try_ to keep jealousy and anxiety buttoned in, when you were such a mess about it for such a long time. To teenage you’s credit, it’s probably easier to do when you have a lot of friends and you’re twenty-five, versus being fourteen and suddenly having to fight with the very human who’d scared your partner half to death for their attention.

But you’re gratified too: That they value your attention and affection so much to fear losing it, and that they respect you enough to urge you to do what might make you happy instead of clinging.

So you wrap your arms around them and hug them tight to your chest, closing your eyes and resting your chin atop their head again. “Thanks for encouraging me,” you tell them. And, after a pause: “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chara doesn’t say _I know_ or try to joke. Instead, they make fists on your sweater and tremble a little, and they say “thank you” in a voice so tiny you almost don’t hear it over your father and Innig’s footsteps off in the middle of the garden.

“If I do make friends with her, I’ll introduce you,” you promise them. “I bet you guys would get along.”

“I hope so,” Chara says. A few minutes pass before they loosen their grip.

You sit like that for a while longer, until your father calls Chara to go do their warming-up exercises.

 

 

Alphys messages you again a few hours later, in the middle of your daily walk with Chara and Innig.

_Sorry to trouble you aGAIN but found smth I def can’t carry by myself v.v;; would u mind helping me w/it when u have the time?_

“What is it?” Chara asks as you frown at your phone.

“I’m being summoned,” you tell them and Innig, showing them your screen.

“You’d better go, then,” Chara pronounces after reading Alphys’ message over. “You’re a prince; it’s your job to go rescue damsels.”

“It feels so weird being told that by you,” you complain. “You’re the only damsel I actually _want_ to rescue, all in all.”

Chara blushes, but they cross their arms and raise their eyebrows at you nevertheless. “You’ve got that backwards,” they say. “In _our_ case, _you’re_ the damsel, because _I’m_ your honor guard. Get it straight, Ree.”

“Well, sor _ry,”_ you tell them, and stick your tongue out.

“Hmm,” Innig says, lifting a hand to her mouth and frowning. “Would your friend mind extra help?”

“Probably not, why?” you say.

“Today the ghost cousins are spending quality time together,” she explains, “and Gerson’s taking care of the shop, so I’m supposed to be watching Liron. But if you’re going to help your friend, that leaves me and hir and Chara alone, so.”

Chara makes a face, but they don’t protest, so they really must not be feeling up to braving the company of only humans today.

“Wait, does that mean that I’m being volunteered to babysit hir?” you ask, pointing at yourself. “I do like kids, but I dunno… would Liron be okay with that?”

“Ze lives in hir own head most of the time, it’ll be fine,” Innig says dismissively, waving a hand. “Ze at least likes learning, so if you’re helping your friend tinker then you can probably keep hir attention. That sound doable?”

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll ask—” And you return your attention to your phone, tucking your tongue between your teeth as you type out _Im being asked to babysit my partners friends baby sibling so is it ok if I bring hir?? Ze shouldn’t cause trouble_ and press Send and hold your breath.

There’s a very long pause—either Alphys is busy or she’s thinking—and then there’s another message: _Sure why the heck not, the more the merrier I guess lmao???_

“She says it’s fine,” you report.

“Good,” Innig says. She wraps her arm around Chara’s and looks at them—she barely has to look up anymore to meet their gaze. “Let’s go pester Undyne and Rufus and pet some dogs.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chara tells her, smiling. “Ree—I’ll call you if I need anything, so don’t mind me and go have fun.”

Before Innig can pull them away too quickly, you lean in to catch their mouth with yours; they run their fingertips over your face and into your mane, knuckles tickling your ear until you both let go.

“If you lovebirds are done,” Innig says, and you and Chara make faces at her in unison.

 

 

Liron, upon hearing that you will be babysitting hir instead of hir sister, just blinks and nods and follows after you to the garbage dump very quietly. You consider attempting small talk, and reconsider promptly. Liron just keeps staring ahead of hirself as ze walks with the most intense air of absentmindedness you’ve ever seen, even managing to eclipse Gaster’s. Hir dark blue eyes stay focused straight ahead of hir, too intense to be dreamy but avoiding eye contact with you too deftly to be direct. Hir glasses keep slipping down hir nose, and ze holds a battered spiral notebook clutched to hir chest even while the two of you wade through the dirty water. You hope that ze won’t drop it; it probably wouldn’t be able to stand up to getting wet.

Alphys is waiting by the same big pile of trash as she was last time, in the same uniform. “Oh!” she says, startled, seeing you arrive. “Y-you, um, got here quick. I-I wasn’t expecting you until a little later, m-maybe.”

“I was already pretty close by,” you reply honestly. “And Liron lives near here anyway. Um, this is Liron—ze’s my partner’s friend’s little sibling. Ze lives with Gerson—you know, the shopkeeper…”

“I-I know,” Alphys says. She keeps looking at Liron curiously—maybe she hasn’t seen a human up close yet. “Uh—hi, m-my name is Alphys.”

“Hi,” Liron says, and lets go of the notebook to wave with one hand. It’s the first time you’ve heard hir say anything, you realize. You were starting to think that ze either couldn’t speak, or had trouble speaking sometimes like Chara does, so this is a surprise—hir voice is thin and reedy, quiet.

Alphys smiles, awkward, and then straightens out. “R-right!” she says, emphatic. “S-so there’s this refrigerator hull. I-it’s too high up and it’s t-too heavy f-for me to c-carry on my own. I-if it’s okay w-with you, I n-need you to help me b-bring it back to my p-place.”

You crane your chin back and examine the trash heap she stands before. The refrigerator’s on top, and it’s a big one—shiny and metallic where it isn’t stained by dirt and water. It looks pretty heavy, although you bet you could carry it for a reasonable amount of time without getting tired. “That’s not a problem,” you tell her. “You live in Hotland, right?”

She nods. “Y-yes, w-we’d just have to go use the elev-vators t-to get to the apartments.”

“You must be making something big if you’re using a whole fridge,” Liron observes. “Unless you’re just using parts of it?”

Hir voice squeaks a little on _it,_ and ze ducks hir chin into the big turtleneck of hir sweater, as if defensive. You try not to grimace—you feel hir pain; you remember when your voice started to change when you were a little older than hir, and how frustrating and embarrassing that was.

“Y-yes, I’m using it all,” Alphys says, gracefully ignoring the matter of Liron’s voice. “I-I need a lot of metal f-for this p-project. It is,” and she laughs awkwardly, “k-kind of big.”

“I wanna see it,” Liron says, muffled in the fabric of hir sweater.

“We might get a chance to have a look while we’re there, if Alphys is okay with it,” you tell hir, and then look back at Alphys.

“I-I suppose,” she says, starting to twist the hem of her skirt. “Now, I-I don’t have any g-good snacks. J-just soda and, um, p-potato chips. B-but if y-you two w-would mind s-staying a little b-bit longer, and m-maybe helping me hold things, I-I would… appreciate the c-company.”

“Well, I love popato chisps,” you tell her. Liron snorts beside you, and you grin. “I’m taking sort of a me day this afternoon anyway, and Liron has to stick with me on account of I’m watching hir, so consider us enlisted.”

“W-well aren’t you a charmer,” Alphys says, the sauciness in her voice making your grin widen with surprise. “O-okay. B-but don’t expect t-too much, a-and r-remember, it’s a work in progress, s-so don’t judge too hard.”

“I won’t,” you promise solemnly. Beside you, Liron nods.

You have Alphys back up so that you can lift the fridge off the top of the pile. It’s huge, it’s heavy, and it’s unwieldy; if you hold it right-side-up in your arms it’ll obstruct your ability to walk, but if you hold it lengthwise you might not be able to get through narrow passageways, so you decide to balance it on your shoulder instead. This might get you in trouble walking under low doorways, but you figure you can shift it to under your arm if you’ve got to do that. With it on top of your shoulder, you at least don’t have to worry about braining most people if you’ve got to turn around.

Alphys leads you and Liron to the Riverperson, and she asks them to take all three of you and your cargo to Hotland. You put the fridge down and stand up to hold it steady over the ride, but Alphys and Liron both sit down; Alphys chatters aimlessly to fill up the silence, but Liron doesn’t reply, writing in hir notebook instead. You interject short responses to encourage Alphys to keep talking, but otherwise you let her go.

The elevator, when you reach it, is a bit of a squashed fit; Alphys, it transpires, lives in the apartment complexes near the Core, close to New Home, so roads and hallways are a squashed fit too. When you finally get to her apartment, you have to duck your head to get through the doorway properly.

“I-it’s not much,” Alphys says as soon as you get in, “b-but i-it’s something. Y-you can put the re… the f… the thing over b-by my worktable.”

“Okay,” you tell her, and move slowly, looking around as you venture in.

Her apartment’s a loft—it looks like it’s got a couple of rooms on both levels. The downstairs—you guess it counts as a downstairs—has a kitchen folded mostly up in countertop, a TV with a big screen and a long squashy couch with a small table in front, and then a cleared floor space with a big table set on a messy tarp, odds and ends and toolboxes and blueprints everywhere.

Craning your neck to look at the higher level shows you a computer at a desk absolutely coated in papers, crammed-full bookshelves, and an unmade bed.

You shuffle carefully through the clutter and set the refrigerator down next to Alphys’ table, and give it a gentle pat for good measure.

The thing on the worktable is a… you’re not quite sure how you’re meant to qualify it. But it’s definitely mechanical, and it has a huge metal casing and is filled with wires and high-tech looking stuff.

Alphys comes rushing up beside you, a scary-looking power tool under her arm and a face shield pushed up onto her forehead. “Y-you might want to g-grab my spare,” she warns. “You’re not going to b-be anywhere near as close as m-me, b-but b-better safe than sorry.”

“Uh, okay,” you say, uncertain. You look around; Alphys points at one of her toolboxes. The second face mask is lying on top; you pick it up, unsure of how to best put it on. “Liron, you’d better stay a little further back, okay? I wouldn’t know how to apologize to Gerson and Innig if anything happened to you.”

Ze’s already perched on the sofa, all the way on the other end of Alphys’ apartment, but ze lifts one hand to give you a silent thumbs-up anyway.

Alphys helps you with your face mask, hands slightly shaky. You have to bend nearly in half to let her at your head properly. “Y-you b-be careful too, y-your h-h—I-I m-mean Asriel,” she says. Her stammering’s worse than usual. “P-please listen t-to d-directions a-and s-stay safe.”

“Okay,” you tell her, trying to keep your tone as patient and even as you can. “Don’t worry about me, I know you know what you’re doing. I’ll listen.”

“G-good,” she says.

She directs you to hold the fridge still, and uses a tool that looks like a hand drill if its drill were made of hot blue fire to cut the door off at its hinges. You’re very careful not to move your hands from where she tells you to set them, or even to move your feet: The sparks from that thing look like they’d hurt if you caught any of them.

Alphys then has you reposition and hold the rest of the fridge as she neatly cuts the sides apart. The whole process takes about ten… maybe fifteen minutes. Once it’s all taken apart and laid out on the table next to the big mysterious whatever, Alphys turns her tool off and takes her mask off too.

“O-okay,” she says. “That’s. That’s g-good enough for now, I-I think. D-do you want a soda? There’s p-plenty in my fridge.”

Liron pads off to fetch drinks before you can even start towards the kitchen, and the three of you sit on the sofa in a line with Alphys in the middle because there’s not really anywhere else to sit.

“So what are you making, anyway?” you ask in between picking at your can’s pop tab. You’re not very good at opening these, or actually drinking from them either; the few times that you have had soda before, it’s generally been after your mother has poured it into a glass and put ice in. Your father and Chara both prefer tea and coffee to soda, complaining that it’s too sweet or that it dulls the fighting spirit. You think it’s fun once in a while—the bubbles are so weird and tickly—but these cans are really made for people with flatter faces and smaller mouths than yours.

Alphys, who seems to be solving this problem by licking up soda with a tongue longer and more flexible than you first expected it to be, finishes the mouthful she was on and shifts the can to one hand only, lowering it to her lap.

“I-I said that it’s a s-surprise f-for a friend,” she begins. “He’s, um. So he’s a g-ghost? And he wants a b-body that w-will feel right for him t-to possess, b-but there’s nothing anything like he really wants. S-so I decided t-to make him one. T-this one, though,” she says, flapping a hand at her work-in-progress on the table, “i-it’s just a temporary fix. I-I c-can’t make a robot more sophisticated t-than this one w-without better materials, b-but it’s not fair t-to ask Mettaton to wait until I-I’ve graduated college a-and c-can afford something nicer, so…”

“Napstablook’s cousin?” Liron asks.

“Oh!” Alphys turns away from you to face hir. “Y-you know him?”

“Not well,” Liron says. Ze’s sunken into hir sweater and is watching Alphys with consideration in hir eyes. “I’m more… Napstablook’s friend.”

Alphys smiles a little. “M-Mettaton w-was saying that, that now they have friends, he wouldn’t feel so b-bad about t-trying to be corporeal and going t-to fulfill his dreams. I-I guess that b-before, he was t-too worried ab-bout Napstablook t-to even consider it.”

“It really is a small world down here,” you muse aloud.

“W-what do you mean?” Alphys asks.

You startle a little. The soda can you still haven’t opened fizzes angrily against the aluminum from being bounced around. “Oh! Uh—I mean… me and Chara and Chara’s friends from training hang out with Napstablook a lot, and Liron’s sister Innig is friends with… Mettaton.” If that’s what Alphys knows him by, it’s probably his preferred name, so you’ll have to be careful to use it instead of the one you’re more familiar with. “I think I heard her talking about how he’d been trying to start a human culture appreciation club, and was happy about finally getting a member. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“Uhh,” Alphys says, turning so red it shows through her scales. She looks vaguely sweaty, too, and you scratch your nose to hide your grin. “I-I guess there’s no p-point in hiding it. I-I mean!! W-we mostly just watch o-old movies and c-c-cartoons a-and things. I-it’s p-pretty silly, b-but it’s fun. I guess.” She shrugs. “A-anyway, I have all sorts of plans for his final body… I-I’d like t-to find a way t-to help his soul behave, um, more like a human’s would. B-but that’s a little more a-ambitious than I c-can manage right now anyway.”

“That sounds… really complicated,” you say. “Is that even possible?”

“It! Ought to be!!” Alphys says, gesticulating. “Monster souls a-and human ones are definitely d-different, b-but I d-don’t think they’re _as_ different as a l-lot of p-people think.”

“Huh.”

“I-I could show you m-my research and all,” she begins, and then grins and scratches her head. “I-I think you’d probably find it p-pretty boring though…”

“It wouldn’t be boring,” Liron says suddenly. “I think you’re probably right. You must be right. You should show me some other time, I’d like to see.”

Alphys’ blush darkens. “S-seriously, it’s b-boring, and it’s c-complicated too, but, um—thanks. I will later.”

“But, so… how much more have you got to go on the temporary body?” you prompt.

She jolts again. “Uhh… I-I still have to finish the outer frame, and add in f-features, like the arms a-and the wheel a-and also the j-jetpack…” Jetpack??? “B-but!! I d-do have the processors a-and the main screen assembled! I can show you!”

And so saying, Alphys sets her drink down on the table and gets up to run over to her worktable in a rush. You and Liron both watch as she levers the robot up to point what you guess is going to be its front side towards you—it’s got this huge compound screen made up of a bunch of TV or computer monitors.

“Watch!” Alphys says happily, and she flips a switch and a dial underneath the screens. They all light up, flashing through test patterns and then forming a big red M over a yellow backdrop—and then they all go dark, and so do the other lights in the apartment.

“Uh,” you venture at length, “was that… supposed to happen?”

“No!” Alphys replies from somewhere in the dark. “Dammit! The electricity blew out!” A clank. “Sh—I mean, shoot!” More clanking. “I c-can fix this if I can just—get to the fuse—ouch!”

You begin to rise from your seat, bang your knees on the table, and sit back down sharply, sucking in a very rude cuss that you’d want to hold in even without Liron there listening.

Then you have to squint, as something bright flares behind you.

You turn, a little hesitant, and—Liron is standing up, hir right hand held out and up, a sphere of gold-white light sitting just above hir palm. It looks like—like your mother with her fire. Almost like monster magic.

There’s another glow, though, faint and purple from underneath Liron’s sweater. It’s the light of hir soul, you’re sure, even without having seen hir call it out before. It’s so similar to how Chara’s looks, when it’s not out all the way.

Ze’s doing this, somehow.

“C-can—” Alphys begins. “C-can you hold that for a while? I-I can replace the fuse quickly i-if I have light…”

“Yeah,” Liron says. “It’s easy. Not a problem.”

She sucks in a breath as you turn to her; spots of light dance across your vision from staring at Liron’s light for too long. Her expression is set and stubborn.

“Asriel,” she says. “T-this will go easier if you can balance me on your shoulders.”

“Uh—sure,” you say. “You’re little, you should be easy to carry.”

You kneel down for her to clamber up on your shoulders, and with your hands securing her feet, you stand where she directs you, underneath the main light.

It’s impossible to watch her because of where she’s standing—you’ll bonk her with your horns if you wiggle around too much, and it’s hard to crane your head back at the right angle anyway. So you try to just hold still even though the clangs and clatters from directly above make you nervous.

“Okay,” Alphys announces after several minutes have passed. “Okay, I think this should do it—”

And the lights flicker back on. You crouch down to let Alphys get off your shoulders; there’s a heavy thump from the direction of the couch, and as Alphys goes to turn the robot’s screens off, you look to see that Liron is leaned back on the cushions, hir eyes half-closed, the light gone from hir hand.

“Well, _that_ was a disaster,” Alphys mutters, and then she sighs. “L-let’s just… just take it easy for a little bit, okay? I-I’ve got some anime we c-can watch while we c-cool off.”

 

 

“I’m not like my sister,” Liron says later, when you three have all been sitting on the couch together for a couple hours watching anime and going through Alphys’ stock of potato chips.

Alphys looks over her shoulder from where she’s changing the DVD, and you nod gently. Liron isn’t looking at either of you. Ze’s gazing at the television, the blue flicker of its screen reflecting off hir glasses and hiding hir expression from you.

“How so?” you prompt when ze doesn’t continue.

“I’ve been able to do things like this for as long as I can remember,” Liron says at length. In the corner of your eye, you see Alphys turn to watch you both instead of putting the disc in her hands into the DVD player. “I wanted to know why. I wanted to know a lot of things. Nobody at the orphanage could tell me. Why so many children who wanted to die climb the mountain. What really happened to the monsters from the storybooks. Things seemed… connected. So I came here to find out.”

Your mind has all but ground to a halt. They _know,_ on the surface, that kids climb this mountain to die? They know, but they’re not doing anything about it? It makes you feel a lot colder inside to think about than whatever weird human magic Liron’s got and why ze has it.

“There are a lot of things I still don’t understand, but…” Liron ducks hir chin and turns, and the glare disappears from hir glasses, transforming hir from otherworldly specter back to tired kid. “It’s different down here, in nice ways. It’s good to be cared about.”

“It is,” you tell hir. “I… um, there’s a lot I still don’t know, too, but… I’m sorry that you—felt like you had to risk your life just to get an explanation. You’re way more valuable a person than that.”

There’s a long, long silence in which Liron looks at you blankly and Alphys is completely silent. That cold crawling in your stomach intensifies. Maybe it wasn’t your place to say that to somebody you barely even know. Maybe you’re just making things worse.

“Innig is right,” Liron says at last. “Monsters are weird.”

“What d-do you mean?” Alphys asks.

Liron sinks further down into the sofa. “Nobody on the surface would have thought to tell me something like that.”

It’s quiet for a long, long time after that.

 

 

Chara tells you over the phone that they and Innig are still busy when you and Liron finally leave Alphys’ place, so when you bring hir back to Gerson’s, you know you have time to linger.

Gerson is an old friend of your parents’. He’s one of the few remaining monsters who’s survived from the age when monsters and humans were at war, and he isn’t even a Boss Monster like your parents, frozen in time unless he has a biological child to pass the power of his soul down to. He’s ancient—his beard is white, and there are liver spots all over his arms and face—but his shell is still sturdy as anything, and whenever he gets a customer he cackles as loudly as ever.

When Gerson sees you and his foster child returning, he doesn’t cackle. He frowns. “Liron,” he says, voice grave and gentle. “Now, you go get something to eat and lay down, kiddo. If you can’t sleep, I know you can find something quiet to do. There’s crab apples left over from today’s haul; you can have as many of those as you like.”

While you’re still standing mystified, Liron nods silently and heads into the house without argument or complaint. As soon as ze’s gone, Gerson turns and fixes you with a very beady eye. It doesn’t matter that you stand head and shoulders above him, you still back up a step.

“I know that look,” he says, shrewd. “Ze’s been using magic, hasn’t ze?”

“You—know about Liron’s magic?” you stammer.

“’Course I know,” Gerson replies. “That’s the reason your parents asked me to foster hir, sonny. Aside from them, I’m the only one who’s been around long enough to remember what human magic looks like. I said sure I’d do it ‘cos your folks have had their hands full with you and Chara for a long time and they deserve their rest, and ‘tween Innig and her friend Undyne, I’m used to having young folk underfoot.

“Now, there ain’t much I can teach hir, but we’ve been looking through historical records to find what help we can.” He shrugs, like he hasn’t dropped too many revelations at your feet like a ton of bricks.

“Is—is this a normal thing?” you ask blankly. “Humans being able to do magic and all?”

“Ask your partner,” Gerson replies. “No, from what Liron tells me, human magicians have declined in number drastically. Ze’s never met another magic-user in hir life.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you say. “I mean—Chara can’t use magic unless it’s a tool or a spell that monsters have made, and I know Prase and Rufus and Innig are the same. I guess I just assumed that humans _can’t_ use magic, none of them, but… the Barrier was made by human _magicians_ and all.” A possibility occurs to you. “Wait. But if Liron is a magician too…”

“Don’t ask too much of hir,” Gerson says, quieter. “Ze’s a child, and untrained, and there’s only one of hir. The magicians who trapped us here were the most powerful in all the human army, and there were seven of _them.”_

“Oh,” you say. “But—if there were ways for us to at least understand the Barrier better, maybe… we could find some other way to break it aside from relying on soul power. Or relying on—that prophecy.”

Gerson nods, watching you closely.

“You know that when Chara fell, your parents—especially your father—thought that they were the angel,” he says.

You don’t say anything.

“’S why he decided to rebuild the capital all the way up near the Barrier and spread the Kingdom of Monsters all the way across the caverns. I didn’t like that idea,” he goes on. “Felt a little betrayed that your parents’d think we had nothing to fear from _any_ humans after finding just one that preferred us monsters to their own kind. And it became clear _pretty dang quick_ that they were putting a lot of eggs into one basket. The hope of humans and monsters, my left foot.”

You shift, uncomfortable. He’s right—you know better than most people how badly Chara was affected by all the expectations everyone had put on them—but it still feels like he’s speaking ill of them, and there’s something prickly and annoyed snapping at the base of your spine.

“How come you decided to take in two of the human kids, then?” you challenge, trying to will yourself not to bristle too visibly.

Gerson laughs. “Son, you misunderstand,” he says. “If I had anything against the fallen children, I wouldn’t’ve offered to foster them. Chara and Prase, Rufus and Innig… they’re all more like monsters than like humans, growing up among us. It’s good. For them, and for us too. Maybe your parents were wrong to put all that pressure on one little kid, but I don’t think they were so wrong to dream of a future where monsters and humans could live in peace, watching you and Chara romp around.

“’Sides, I have things to make up for, and your partner wouldn’t think I have the responsibility to make it up to _them,”_ he says with a wink. “I’m the one who’s responsible for keeping the legends of the prophecy. Chara wouldn’t have heard it in detail if not for me.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you say. “But we were talking about the Barrier.”

Gerson laughs. “Thass right! You can’t blame an old man like me for getting distracted, though.”

You smile ruefully, because you guess you can’t if the old man in question is over a thousand years old.

“If that’s something you want to look into, there’s only so much help I can give you,” he says. “I’ve got history, and old memories of the war. But I don’t know the true nature of human magic or human souls any more than you do, my prince.”

“It should still be able to help somehow,” you say. “Thank you.”

You’re starting to get an idea. It’s probably a stupid idea, and it’s still barely budding in the back of your mind. But you’ll keep it there and let it grow, in case you don’t like any of your other options.

 

 

“I,” you say much later, flopping onto the bed with all your clothes still on, “have had _such_ a long day.”

Chara sits beside you and then leans to lie across your chest, featherlight and warm.

“Same here,” they say.

 

 

Things go on like this for a while.

During the day, you train with your father or take lessons from your mother, or sit in with your parents during political business to learn, or you visit the local universities to visit the science majors, smiling and asking questions of the soon-to-graduate. You’re polite, and you take notes, but none of the kids you talk to really impress you that much.

Chara follows along with you on official things or to colleges sometimes, and you feel better with them there. They note down information for you on occasion, but more often they’re just a quiet observer, shadowing you at your shoulder: A comforting presence, the knowledge that no matter what, you have an ally. That you’ll be able to have their opinion on this when you get home and can talk alone. It surprises you, how nice that is to have.

When you have the time free, you return to your long text conversations with Alphys. The third time you were over at her place, she altered your phone, switching out its keyboard for a bigger one that isn’t so hard for you to use. It’s helped you reply faster, and also made texting less of a hassle for you overall.

She tells you about her progress on Mettaton’s body (going well) and talks a lot about her favorite cartoons (some of this goes over your head, but you like that she’s having fun). You send her photos of this year’s garden (she showed you how to use the camera) and one time you send her a candid of combat practice with your father and Chara and Chara’s friends. It’s blurry and not very good, but Alphys exclaims over it a lot.

Whenever she needs help lifting or carrying or holding, you go visit her to help, sometimes bringing Liron along with you. It’s super cool to watch the innards and casings of the big rectangular robot body come together, even if the individual tests for the joints and computerized parts are a little too boring for you to sit through without something else to do. You can appreciate how meticulous she is, though, even if it’s too much for your attention span. This is going to be someone else’s body; of course it’s got to work perfectly in every aspect. You remind yourself that she’s just showing how much she loves Mettaton every time you run out of patience and have to go for a book.

You still don’t have any candidates for the new Royal Scientist. But that idea of yours keeps spreading out its roots.

Finally, a morning comes when you turn on your phone and find a message titled ITS FINISHED!!!!!!!! in your inbox.

 _Going to give it to Mettaton tonight,_ she’s written. _You and Liron can come if you want?? since you’ve helped so much & all I mean_

 _I’d love to be there!_ you text her back. _Just let me know when I should be at your place._

She sends you back your informal RSVP, and you tell her that’ll be no problem and shut the phone off.

“I’m going to be out tonight,” you tell Chara, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed still only half-dressed, yawning, their hair a gentle tumble around their face, all alight from the glow of the daylamp.

“That so,” Chara says, dragging their hand over their eyes.

“Mettaton’s body’s done,” you report. “Alphys is going to give it to him, so she invited me. I don’t know how long it’ll be, but I kinda want to be there, y’know?”

Chara flaps a hand. “Oh, I understand,” they say. “It’s been a big project. Of course you’ll want to be there to watch everything pay off. I’m glad for her,” they add. “And him. And you.”

You scootch up to their side and dip your head to nuzzle the base of their jaw. Their hand comes up to pet your head and back as if by reflex, and you keep kissing, drifting along the side of their neck down to their collarbone.

“You’re sure amorous this morning,” they remark, as if commenting on the newspaper. Only the hitch in their breath and their pink cheeks betray them.

“Got to get my quality time with you in _sometime_ if we might not have any tonight,” you reason, grinning against their bare skin.

Chara gasps a little, and then they laugh. “You have a point,” they say, and bring your face up to theirs to kiss you.

There’s very little talking after that.

 

 

You arrive at Alphys’ loft first; Liron has messaged the both of you that ze’ll be along with Mettaton and Napstablook, as apparently Mettaton decided last-minute that he wanted his cousin to bear witness to his friend’s grand tribute. This is, according to Liron, an exact quote. You still haven’t seen very much of Mettaton in person—it’s Napstablook and the other Blooks that your parents have dealt with mostly; Mettaton himself was always off doing something else—but you’ve sure got an impression of him already.

Alphys’ smile is stiff when she welcomes you in, and you peer down at her face while she leads you to the couch.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yes!” she squeaks instantly, and then wrings her hands. “I mean!! N-no. I mean—sort of??? I-it’s just that this is s-still p-pretty different from what M-Mettaton wants. H-he might not like it. I-I might just b-be causing more t-trouble for him.”

“It’ll probably be fine,” you tell her. “I mean—you worked so hard. And it _is_ only going to be temporary until you can make an even better body. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“I-I hope you’re r-right,” Alphys mutters.

There’s no time for you to try to console her any further, because right away there’s another knock at the door.

“I-I’m coming!” Alphys yelps, and she nearly trips over her own tail as she leaps up from the sofa she’s barely even sat down on. (You reach out to steady her, and smile to yourself when she pushes herself back up on your arms.) She patters back over to the door in a great rush.

Liron steps through the doorway first, followed by Napstablook and a ghost you don’t immediately recognize but assume must be Mettaton. Liron looks dreamy and absent as usual; Napstablook has the same vaguely anxious and uneasy expression as ever. Mettaton is the most attention-grabbing of the three by far: His face is a lot more—well, _animated,_ weird as it is to apply that description to a ghost. He keeps looking back and forth all over the house, wide-eyed, clearly bursting with curiosity.

“Why, Alphys, darling,” he says, “what’s all this?”

Alphys slaps her cheeks lightly and squares her shoulders. “Okay. O-okay,” she says. “N-now, d-don’t judge this too hard, okay? B-but I’ve g-got something here for you…”

And she ushers him over to the worktable, where the completed robot is sitting propped up and shiny, finally complete.

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure I follow…?” Mettaton says, raising a ghostly eyebrow.

“I-it’s a temporary body!!! For you,” Alphys bursts out, reddening—and she launches into much the same explanation as she gave you and Liron: That she wants to make a proper body more along the lines of what Mettaton wants one day when she has the resources, but that she doesn’t want to make him wait until then to get a form he might feel better in.

“A—and this way you’ll maybe be able to get a TV program and all that, like you’ve always been saying you wanted, s-so I _know_ it’s n-not quite what you were hoping for, b-but just for now…” Alphys babbles, wringing her hands more desperately than ever before.

“Alphys,” Mettaton says, turning to her. “Alphys, Alphys.”

She shuts up with an actual _meep_ noise, her eyes going wide. “Y—yes, Mettaton?” she ventures, timid.

“I cannot _believe_ that you would go to so much work just for me,” he says, turning a warm smile on her that softens the atmosphere in the entire room. Even you can feel yourself relaxing—and only then do you realize how tense you’ve been, hoping for Alphys’ sake that things would go smoothly. “I must be honest—it isn’t quite what I had in mind for my great stage debut. But it’s much, much better than being a dummy like my other cousins. I’m willing to give it a try.

“There’s only one thing, though…” And Mettaton swivels away from her and the robot to look past you and at Napstablook. “Blooky… I want to know how you feel about all this, too. There’s certainly no hiding anything from you at this point. I’ve ached for a chance like this for a long, long time. But it would be horribly brutish of me to just leave you to deal with the farm all alone while I rush off to become a star.”

“Oh…” Napstablook says, seeming to fade into their surroundings as they suddenly find themself the center of attention. “Gee…… I just want you to be happy, Mettaton…… besides……… I’m not……… alone anymore, after all………”

They turn towards Liron and smile a little, shy. Liron blinks as if finding this unexpected, but then ze smiles back.

When you turn back to Mettaton, he’s smiling a little. “Is that so? Well, I’m glad to hear that I can leave my favorite cousin in good hands if this temporary body works out.”

“There’s…” Napstablook ventures timidly, becoming even more translucent. “Um…… there’s just……… one thing……………”

“What is it, Blooky?” Mettaton prompts.

“Oh… well……” Napstablook lowers their head. “I just…… want you to promise……… if you can, I mean……… I don’t want you to forget about me……… I know I’m not as much fun as you and all…… but……… I’d miss you if I never got to see you in person again, Mettaton………”

They fall silent. Mettaton does an about face and floats quickly across the room towards them, bumping his ghostly forehead to theirs.

“Don’t be silly, Blooky,” he says, gentle again. “I’d never forget you.” And he chuckles. “Why, if I can wrangle it, I’ll see if I can get you and Shyren to guest star with me when I finally have the show I deserve! After all, I _did_ promise.”

Napstablook laughs just a little, weakly. You stare, fascinated; you don’t think you’ve ever heard them laugh before. “Okay,” they say. “I believe in you, Mettaton………”

The ghost cousins enjoy their ghost nuzzle for a little while longer, you and Alphys and Liron respectfully quiet while you spectate. But finally Mettaton straightens up.

“All right,” he says. “I suppose we’ll have to give this thing a try and make sure it all works. Alphys, let’s do the honors.”

Alphys pushes her glasses up on her snout nervously. “A-a-a-all right,” she squeaks. “I-I-I’ll do my best to, uh, n-not let you down.”

Liron comes to sit beside you on the sofa as Mettaton returns to Alphys and the empty robot body. Napstablook hovers behind you, a polite chill in the air.

“N-now, it’s already p-primed to receive your soul,” Alphys says. “I-I’ll turn it on so that it’s a-all ready t-to operate as soon as you’re inhabiting it.”

Mettaton rises and falls slightly as if taking a deep breath—do ghosts need to take deep breaths?—and once Alphys has flipped a small switch beneath the robot’s big compound screen, he floats up close to it, his form seeming to fade the closer he gets until he’s completely transparent.

There’s a very long, very tense pause.

“Ohhh?” It’s definitely Mettaton’s voice, but more synthetic-sounding, and it’s coming from the speakers in the robot’s front. “Ohhhhh?? Darling, what _is_ this sensation? It’s marvelous!”

Alphys lets out a big breath. “O-okay, so you’ve attached yourself correctly, good, that’s good. C-can you try to take your arms out? T-they ought to r-respond just t-to your thoughts…”

Mettaton makes a series of confused noises, then says “Oh!” and then two long noodly appendages ending sort of inexplicably in white-gloved hands pop out of his sides. “Oh!!” he repeats, delighted now instead of just surprised. “I have _arms!”_

“N-not much in the way of legs yet, I’m afraid,” Alphys says, grinning a little shyly, “but that will d-definitely change when you have your real body. For now, l-let’s try wiggling your fingers.”

 

 

The great unveiling of Mettaton’s gift turns into an impromptu karaoke party once all the startup tests are completed. Mettaton hogs the mic, but you’re fine with that—and by the looks of things, so is everyone else: Liron probably doesn’t want to sing because of hir voice, and both Alphys and Napstablook get anxious in the spotlight. And Mettaton is just so _happy—_ it’s hard to begrudge him the chance to play with his newfound corporeality.

But Liron and both Blooks have to leave eventually—Liron because ze has a curfew, Mettaton and Napstablook because Mettaton has to set up his battery charger so that he actually can recharge later when he needs to. (“We, uh, we tried powering you directly with electricity,” Alphys explained, “b-but it didn’t work out too well.” You winced, remembering the blown fuse.) Mettaton thanks Alphys enthusiastically one last time, and then all three of them say goodbye.

As for you—well. Chara is at home waiting for you, but you promised yourself you’d do this as soon as Mettaton’s body was finished. So you take a deep breath, and you linger.

“Alphys?” you ask uncertainly.

“Hm?” she says, turning to you.

She looks like kind of a mess, you realize. She’s got dark circles under her eyes, and actually you think this is the same shirt you saw her in the last time you were over here. But all the same, her demeanor is way more relaxed than you’ve ever seen it before—her shoulders aren’t hunched up, and she’s not playing with her own claws. She’s smiling.

So you hesitate, just for a moment, but then you bite the bullet and forge on.

“Uh—gosh, where to start,” you say. “I know word’s started to get out, about Gaster announcing his retirement and all.”

Alphys cocks her head to one side. “Uh—y-yes, it has.”

“And there’s barely two months left before my coronation, so my parents have decided it’d be better for me to pick the new Royal Scientist and all…” You scratch your head some. “I’ve been looking around talking to all kinds of people from all over the place, and… well, what I mean to say is… would you be interested?”

Alphys laughs a little. She sounds nervous. “Y-you’re such a kidder, Asriel.”

You grin some too, scratching your head again nervously. “See, uh. That’s the thing. I’m not kidding. I think you’d be a really good choice. You’re smart, you’re resourceful, and I’m interested in the kinds of stuff you’ve been studying. It’d help you get the stuff you need to work on Mettaton’s next body sooner, too. How about it?”

“No,” Alphys says, laughing louder. “No, no, no no no no no. I-I absolutely c-can’t.”

“But—” you try to interject, but she just rolls right on over you.

“I-I know it might?? Look impressive to you j-just that I’ve b-built a robot? B-but you c-can’t possibly hire some, some shutin no-show high schooler t-to be your Royal Scientist! T-that’s such an important job! A-and it ought to go t-to someone who _deserves_ it, n-not to someb-body who c-can’t even handle b-blowing out s-some lightbulbs without c-considering drinking bleach! N-no. Y-you c-can’t give me that kind of responsibility. D-don’t joke. It’s n-n-not f-funny.”

Your arguments die in your throat. The way Alphys curls into herself, laughing disgustedly as she disparages her accomplishments, reminds you powerfully of how Chara used to be as a kid.

You swallow.

“Oh,” you say. Your voice sounds kind of funny. You try to smile. “Sorry. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.”

She doesn’t reply.

“I’m really sorry for wasting your time,” you say again. “I’m—I’m gonna go.”

Alphys doesn’t respond to this either. Your path to the door is hesitant, slow, and you look back over your shoulder at her every couple of steps, but she never says a single thing to try to prevent you from leaving.

 

 

You keep your head down as you return home; maybe this is why the only warning you get is the sound of books being set down on the table and soft pattering footsteps before Chara is there before you, concern vivid on their face, reaching up to touch your cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” they ask you, incredibly gentle. “Did things not go well?”

“No, I—” You didn’t think up any good ways to deflect on your way back here. All you’re left with is the truth. “Alphys’ project went over fine. I just—I messed everything up.”

Chara makes a low sympathetic noise, running their fingers over your cheekbones, through your sideburns, tickling your ears. “Do you want to sit down and talk about it?” they suggest. “I’d be happy to listen if that might help.”

You raise your head a little and glance around. “Where’re Mom and Dad?”

“They’re both still out working,” Chara soothes. “It’s just you and me here.”

And so you sigh and let your shoulders slump. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll sit down and we can talk about it.”

They have you retreat to the bedroom while they put tea on, and you lie back on the bed and sigh and contemplate how terrible of a screw-up you really are until they come in after you with a tray and sit down beside you.

“So, what happened?” Chara asks, once you’ve taken a long draft of tea and set your cup back down on the tray.

“I asked Alphys to be the Royal Scientist and she got really upset,” you tell them. Your voice is hideously steeped in gloom. “Really, really, really upset. She—thinks she’s not good enough, I guess. I didn’t know what to say to argue back. I was too busy being hurt that she turned me down, and I just—ran away. Jeez. I’m an awful friend.”

Chara hears you out quietly, and then reaches out to tease locks of your mane out of your face. “I thought you might be considering her, from the way you acted around the other candidates. I’d like to hear your reasoning, if you’re up for it.”

You make a face and get up on your elbow. “It’s just—she’s actually my friend. I’ve seen her work, I _know_ she’s good at what she does. For Mettaton’s real body, she’s planning to find a way to make his soul act like a human’s. And watching her has made me realize that there actually _is_ something that I want to look into, while I’m king.”

“Oh?” Chara says, smiling. “And what would that be?”

“The Barrier,” you answer. Their expression slides into shocked blankness, and you rush on, not wanting to see that look on their face any longer than you have to. “I mean—maybe there’s another way. There’s got to be another way, hasn’t there? Mom and Dad have shown me the numbers for how bad overcrowding’s projected to get in the next couple centuries, and. I know from you and the other humans that it’s probably nicer down here, but all the people who fall down each year, all the stress and the despair and everything… I want people to be able to have the option to leave if they want it, I want to give that to them. But in some way where nobody has to get hurt. Even if it can’t be during my time. Because… I don’t ever want anybody else to have to go through what you and I did, when we were little. I don’t want anyone else to feel like they have to die to save us monsters.”

“It wasn’t—” Chara begins, looking uncomfortable. “You know it wasn’t as clean or as noble as all that, for me. I wanted to stop existing, and I wanted revenge. I wanted to stop being afraid, and the only way I knew to do that was to destroy my enemy completely.” They shake their head and pick at their locket for a moment, only stopping when they lift their teacup instead. “I wanted to run away and use you as my hiding place. I just figured that if I was going to die anyway, someone might as well get some use out of my life. There was nothing admirable about it.”

You reach out and touch their face, cupping their cheek in your palm, running the pad of your thumb over their lips. They hush all at once, as if startled out of a reverie, flushing red beneath your hand.

“I know,” you say, patient. “All the same, all that ‘you are the hope of humans and monsters’ stuff my parents and all the adults kept telling you… it put too much pressure on you, especially given what you’d already gone through. What you were _still_ going through.”

After all, Chara had already been weird and anxious before the whole pie incident happened. It wasn’t that they just started spiraling afterwards—they’d already been headed in that direction; they just sped up.

“Anyway, I want to devote the time and work to finding a better way to break the Barrier,” you say, still stroking Chara’s face, staring straight into their deep red eyes. Their expression is nigh unreadable, but they watch you quietly, drinking in your every word. “I think researching the true nature of souls is a good place to get started, and it’s relevant to what Alphys is already doing. She’s really careful when it comes to other people’s well-being, she’s fun, she’s funny, and she’s my friend and I trust her. But I… I messed it up, I guess.”

“I see,” Chara says. Their lips tickle your hand; they lean in and kiss the center of your palm pad, then take your hand in both of theirs and slowly and carefully kiss each of your fingertips. Your breathing and your heartbeat both stutter hard behind your ribs. Once they’ve gotten each of your pads, Chara folds your hand up and holds it to their chest. “Have you told Alphys what you just told me?”

“No,” you admit. “I didn’t really get the chance to explain. I sort of… got started weird and then she got upset and then _I_ got upset and then I left like a big loser.”

Chara leans in over the tea tray and kisses your nose.

“Here’s what I think,” they say, very kindly. “You should wait until tomorrow so that you both have a chance to calm down. Then you should find her, and explain to her what you just told me. Make sure that she knows that she’s allowed to turn you down if she still doesn’t want to accept this offer. Because it isn’t the end of the world if you can’t have everything you want, Ree. You have other choices now, and you’ll live long enough to pick someone to take care of the issues you want to address later.”

Something shifts in your stomach uncomfortably when Chara says that—coldness, squirming, fearful. You move the tea tray to the floor and scoop them up into your arms—needing to feel their solidity, their ribs shifting with their breath, their beating heart.

“Asriel?” they ask, a little confused, a little uncertain.

“It’s good advice,” you tell them. “I think I’ll do that. I just… get a little scared, talking about things that far off in the future.”

Chara squirms until they’re up on their knees in the circle of your arms, and they kiss you, fitting their soft warm mouth against yours and wrapping their own arms around your neck.

They pull back softly and nestle their face into the side of your throat. “Do you want a distraction?” they ask, their voice and words tender.

You open your mouth, then close it and frown. “Actually…” you say, a little wondering. “I think I’d rather not. I don’t know if I’m really in the mood.”

Chara pushes back in the circle of your arms to look up at you, wide-eyed, for just a moment—then their surprise softens into a proud and gentle smile, and they stroke your face.

“Would you rather just cuddle for a while instead?” they ask, one corner of their mouth lifting higher than the other, tinged playful.

“Sure,” you say, and pull them back in.

“I can get a book and read to you,” they offer, muffled in your front. “I’ll even get out all your old picture books if those would be more relaxing.”

You make a face. “I can’t tell if you’re sincere or making fun,” you complain.

Chara giggles into your chest. “A little of both columns,” they say. “And now I finally have you back for the time you were like this at _me.”_

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Chara. I love you too.”

Their arms circle you again, and they squeeze you gently as they laugh.

 

 

You text Alphys the next day, but she doesn’t answer.

Well—you were sort of expecting as much. You ditched her on a really, really awkward note yesterday. She might not want to talk to you! She might not even have her phone on.

But all the same, you want to talk to her properly, and you want to make sure that she’s okay. So you keep checking your phone all day, and once you get out of meetings, you go straight to Hotland, through the apartments to her loft.

Standing in front of her door, you take a deep breath and knock on it sharply.

“Alphys?” you call. “It’s me. I wanted to make sure you’re alright and talk about yesterday, I think I left things at a bad place.”

The only answer you get is complete silence.

You rest your forehead against the door and sigh, sinking down into a crouch with your weight on your heels. Of course it’s not going to be that easy. You’re an idiot.

“Hey you,” says a young voice. You jump a little in place, narrowly avoid dumping yourself onto your butt, and swivel around to see a couple of young kids standing in the hallway, looking at you curiously.

“If you’re looking for Alphys,” says the taller one—reptilian and green, with spindly claws and a long snout and gold ringlets, “she’s, like, out.”

“Like _way_ out,” says the shorter one, who’s purple and furry and chubby. “Like try the dump maybe?”

Their friend looks at them reproachfully until they realize they’re being stared at, and spreads their black-padded hands like _What?_ until the tall kid just sighs.

“So yeah, Alphys like—left to go to the dump a couple hours ago,” the tall one says. They peer down their snout at you. “She seemed pretty upset??”

“Ugh,” you say. “Yeah, I guess she would be.”

Tall One crosses their arms. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Help her out,” you tell them, “at least I hope.”

“Don’t mess it up,” Tall One says.

You grin awkwardly. “I’m trying not to?”

“I guess that’s good enough,” Tall One judges. “C’mon, Catty, let’s go sort the stuff we picked up last time.”

And they nod, imperious, and stroll away. Their shorter friend, Catty, spends another moment staring at you wide-eyed before they chase after, calling “Bratty, wait for me!!”

You hitch yourself to your feet, take a deep breath. Okay. Let’s try this again.

The Riverperson’s ferry stops close to the Blook farm and the garbage dump, so you have them give you a ride, trying not to tap your feet too obviously in the bottom of the boat as you wait. As it is, when you finally reach your destination, you nearly dunk yourself in the river in your rush to disembark.

“Sorry!” you sputter to the Riverperson, the hems of whose robes are now splattered with river water. “Thank you! And sorry again!”

You run down the corridor, past the quiet place, and then barrel down the slope into the dump with your heart pounding and your breathing wild. You force yourself to slow down once you hit the water—you don’t want to splash this stuff all over yourself and get scolded by your parents for messing up your clothes, and you also _really_ don’t want to broadcast your presence to Alphys and scare her further in if she’s still here.

But as you take one careful step after another through the ankle-high dirty water, you start to hear voices—more than one. You slow down, and you listen.

“All those theories are really damn cool!” Your chest jolts: You know that voice. It’s Undyne—what’s _she_ doing here?

“H-heheh, d-do you really think so?” And there, that’s Alphys.

“Hell yeah,” Undyne replies. You can just imagine her wide, toothy grin as she says it. And, as if in afterthought: “Y’know, you’ve got a real cute smile.”

“O-oh!” Alphys squeaks. You raise your eyebrows. “Um, I, th-that is… thank y-you?”

Undyne cackles. You wonder if you’re imagining the desperate note you hear in her voice. “Sure!” A pause. “So… I gotta ask. That uniform… are you ditching school like me?”

 “Um,” Alphys says. “S-sort of, I guess.”

“Awesome,” Undyne tells her. “School suuuuuuucks! I’m lucky I have a real job, it means I can get out of having to go.” More like your parents have all but taken over her formal education, but Undyne leaves that part out.

“I-it does suck,” Alphys agrees.

“Huh,” Undyne says. “I’d have thought somebody smart like you would like learning.”

“I d-do like learning,” Alphys tells her. “It’s just—all the p-people. I can’t really d-deal with it. I-I’m sorry,” she says, rushing, tripping over her own words. “Y-you must think I-I’m such a loser. Haha…”

“Not at all,” Undyne replies, immediate, no hesitation at all. “One of my best friends has _really_ nasty issues with anxiety. They’re like the bravest person I know, and they still freeze up and go shaky all over if you spring certain stuff on them without any warning. So I get how that stuff can be hard to deal with, and I don’t think it makes you a loser.”

“Thanks,” Alphys says, small. “Actually… it’s something else too.”

“You wanna get it off your chest?” Undyne suggests.

“If you really don’t… mind.”

“Dude, I would not suggest if I minded,” Undyne says, earnest.

There’s a long pause.

“A friend of mine,” Alphys begins slowly, and you feel the sensation of something really unpleasant crawling on your back, “he… g-gave me this r-really kind offer. I think it’s… wasted on s-someb-body like me. I t-turned him down, um, p-pretty rudely. S-so I just… decided to come here t-to be in my element.” She laughs, self-deprecating, and you look down at your feet, guilt squirming in your belly.

“Okay, I may not know what’s going on,” Undyne says, “but I bet whatever this guy wanted to give you or do for you, it’s not wasted on you at all. I mean, we may have just met, but I already know you’re cool! You’re smart and you’re passionate! You care about the things you’re into, a hundred percent!! I like that in a person!”

Alphys makes another squeaky noise.

You turn around and head back to the dry slope to find a place to sit. It seems like Undyne has got helping Alphys feel better well in hand, so you _really_ have not got any business eavesdropping any longer.

It’s another ten, maybe even fifteen minutes before the two of them emerge from around the corner. Alphys startles when she notices you, and Undyne looks between her face and yours, bemusement in her eye, while you stand up.

“A-Asriel,” Alphys squeaks. “I—I d-didn’t expect t-to see you here.”

“Some of your neighbors told me where I could find you,” you explain. “I wanted to apologize again for putting you on the spot, and see how you’ve been holding up… but, uh, it sounded like you and Undyne were already busy talking, so I decided to back off and give you some space.”

“Y—you know each other?” Alphys asks, pointing at her and then pointing at you.

“Yeah,” Undyne tells her. “I’m in the Royal Guard, so. Also the friend I told you about earlier? They’re this big guy’s partner.”

Alphys’ mouth makes an O of understanding.

“So, uh…” You swing your hands at your sides. “Are you… doing better? You, uh, sound a little better now at least.”

“Yes!!” Alphys replies. “I!!! Am sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure. “This stuff happens. But… I also kind of wanted to ask you again. And. Explain better this time. I have a lot of reasons why I think you’d be a good fit for this job, better than the other people I’ve seen, so… You can accept or turn me down freely, but will you hear me out first?”

Alphys opens her mouth, then closes it. She narrows her eyes and looks at you for a long while, then folds her arms and sighs.

“Okay,” she says. “I—I’d like to hear it. A-and listen a-a little b-better, instead of just. Panicking.”

You take a deep breath. “All right,” you tell her. “And, Alphys?”

“What is it?”

“Thanks for giving me another chance to convince you,” you say, and grin a little bit.

Undyne puts her hands on her hips. “If we’re gonna stand around talking anyway,” she suggests, “why not just come back to my house and do it? I mean the garbage dump is clearly an excellent place to meet girls—” Is Alphys _blushing?_ “—but I’m pretty sure my house smells nicer.”

“That’d be great,” you tell her. “I appreciate that a lot.”

The three of you leave the dump and head for the quiet place, you and Undyne on either side of Alphys, you with hope fluttering in your chest, going over and over what you told Chara all the while.

 

 

You think it’s best to introduce Alphys as your choice for next Royal Scientist the same way that your parents broke the news of his retirement—so you invite her to the castle for a Dreemurr-Gaster family dinner.

She arrives fifteen minutes early, wearing a red dress with white polka dots that she confesses she had Undyne help her pick out at the store. Your parents are both busy in the kitchen, so this gives you the perfect opportunity to lead her into the living room and introduce her to Chara, who’s knitting in your mother’s reading chair.

They set their needles and yarn down in their lap and reach out to take both of Alphys’ hands, looking her warmly in the face. “I’ve heard so much about you from my partner,” they say, smiling. “It’s good to finally meet you in person. Please forgive me for not standing to greet you. I’m having a bit of a bad knees day.”

“O-oh no, that’s a-alright!” Alphys sputters. She seems almost starstruck, either from getting to meet Chara at last or from the reception she’s getting. “I-I’ve, um… heard a lot about you too.”

Chara glances at you briefly, grinning. “Nothing good, I’m sure.”

Alphys laughs. “Of course only good things! U-um, As—I mean, His Highness r-really cares about you.”

And for some reason, Chara turns bright pink and releases Alphys’ hands to shove you lightly. _“Does he, now.”_

“Yes he does. You don’t have to call me by my title,” you assure Alphys as Chara kneads at your arm with both hands. You cannot look at them right now because they are _lethally_ cute and watching their pleased embarrassment will probably make you spontaneously combust. Or, well, tempt you to lead them to your room for a little sojourn, which isn’t a wise idea when young kids are going to be arriving soon and Papyrus isn’t old enough to know better than to invite himself in without knocking yet. “My parents, either. We don’t really stand on formality here.”

“I-I’ll… er… try??” Alphys says, looking vaguely alarmed.

“Trust me, it will be difficult to call them ‘Your Majesty’ when they’re calling each other by pet name over the dinner table in front of all the guests,” Chara quips. “There’s nothing majestic about that; they’re just an embarrassingly besotted old married couple.”

“But you call me by pet name all the time too,” you tell them, grinning. “What does that make us?”

Chara’s face flares pink again, and they smile at you, coy and dangerous, eyes flashing. “It makes us a shut up and stop teasing me or I will not only introduce Alphys to all your favorite books, I will also dig up all your old God of Hyperdeath stories and read them not only to her but to Sans _and_ Papyrus _and_ Prase.”

You cringe. “Low blow, Chara.” Then you raise your eyebrows. “I can’t believe you kept those old things.”

“Yes, well, one apparently never knows when one will require blackmail material to keep one’s partner from being embarrassing,” they say, bland. Then their expression goes mischievous again. “Also, your old self-insert fanfiction is honestly adorable; of course I kept it.”

You groan and roll your eyes. Alphys, between the two of you, mouths _God of Hyperdeath???_ with upraised eyebrows.

“Please don’t ask,” you say quickly. “Really. Please, please don’t ask.”

She shrugs in acquiescence, still grinning almost incredulously. All this was probably worth it if it’s helped her relax, you decide.

Gaster brings his children along a few minutes after that, and you introduce them—or try to, in between your parents rushing into the room to fuss over Gaster and Papyrus clamoring to ride on your shoulders and Prase cutting past all of you to hug Chara. Once everyone’s names get passed around, you all start moving in the general direction of the kitchen table. It’s a good thing the table is big; you’ve had to get the extra chairs out of storage so that everyone will be able to fit. Your parents take their customary seats on either end of the table; Alphys sits between you and your mother, with Chara on your father’s side; Gaster and his kids sit in a line on the side facing you.

Your mother’s really outdone herself with tonight’s dinner—you don’t think you’ve seen a spread this fancy in a long time, even at the party to celebrate the completion of the Core. There’s relative silence as everyone passes the different dishes around and loads their plates, and then a lot of exclaiming over the quality of the cooking. Your mother is positively beaming.

It’s only once several minutes have passed that real conversation begins to pick back up.

“So,” Sans says, leaning over his plate a little and looking at Alphys. “You’re the one who’s gonna be replacing my dad, huh?”

“I-I suppose I am,” Alphys replies, seemingly caught between wondering disbelief and anxiety. “Asriel p-p—chose me, after all.”

“Don’t get _too_ comfortable,” Sans says, leaning back and crossing his arms, a fearless grin splitting his face. “The only reason _I’m_ not getting the position is ‘cause I’m too young! You better be prepared to get demoted once _I_ upstage you!”

“Oh my god,” Papyrus says from the seat next to him. “You are being embarrassing and also incredibly rude!!”

“Shut _up,_ Pap, I’m trying to look cool in front of my _rival,”_ Sans tells his brother sidelong in an arch tone, looking down his… well, nostrils, you guess, since his skull hasn’t got a proper nose.

Prase reaches over Papyrus’ head to gently smack the top of Sans’ cranium. From the corner of your eye, you think you see Gaster chuckling silently into his sleeve. “Ignore my bonehead brother,” they say. ( _“Prase!”_ Papyrus groans; Sans looks incredibly indignant to have the opportunity for a terrible pun stolen from him.) “I’ll be working with you as a lab assistant. If there’s ever anything that you’re having trouble with and you can’t get hold of the large one here or my dad, you can talk to me. I’ll be happy to help.”

“O-oh,” Alphys says, turning red. “T-thank you.”

You point at yourself and frown. “The large one?”

“You’re the second tallest in the room, after your father, if you somehow have not noticed,” Chara informs you from your left. You frown at them too.

Meanwhile, Prase has returned their attention to Alphys. “Be glad that this one” they point at Sans “didn’t actually pull the speech he was practicing before we left. It was… sure something.”

“Oh _shoot,”_ Sans exclaims, looking downright horrified. “My cool oneliners! My puns!!”

“It was sure something,” Prase repeats.

“Hehe, I think you did okay,” Alphys assures Sans. She pauses, then glances around her furtively, and leans in and whispers “Do you… like anime??”

Seems like she’ll be all right if you leave her to it.

“My dear,” your mother says, and you sit up straight and turn to her obediently. “Now that we are all here, we would love to hear about the plans that you have decided upon for Alphys’ direction of study.”

Alphys goes stiff next to you; you shift as surreptitiously as you can to put a hand on her arm and glance down at her, trying to signal that you’ll handle this if she wants. She releases the deep breath she’d barely begun to take and nods at you, just once, jerkily.

You let go of her and return your hands to your utensils. “We’ve decided we’re going to research soul power—probably also human magic and the Barrier, too,” you explain, using cutting up your vegetables as an excuse to avoid everyone’s eyes for a moment. “Alphys is the one who gave me the idea—well, Liron helped too, and I also talked to Gerson about it some, at least the human magic part of it. He says he’s going to lend us the historical records he’s got. Every little bit’ll help.” You’re getting ahead of yourself—you know you need to haul yourself in. So you look up, ready to pick one person, any one person, in your audience to focus on instead. Your gaze falls on Gaster, who has stopped eating and is watching you intently, smiling just slightly. He seems encouraging—this was a good choice. “We have a stable energy source, and our people are able to live comfortably for now, but we’ll still be facing overcrowding in the future, and more monsters wind up suffering from depression every year, often fatally. So I want to study the Barrier. We all know one human soul and one monster soul are enough to cross it, but that’s not acceptable. If we’re getting out of here, I don’t want that triumph to stand atop someone’s sacrifice. That’s not good enough. I’m done with people getting hurt over this problem.

“So we’ll start by gathering all the knowledge we can. Alphys already needs to study the human soul for a project she’s working on, so I want to help her by giving her the resources she needs in exchange for access to whatever she finds. If we learn enough, we might be able to start coming up with actual plans of attack, but I don’t want to count my eggs before they’re hatched, so…” You take a deep breath, then exhale. “It’s really, really ambitious. But this has hung over me and Chara especially for years and years. I think it’s about time I stand up and do something about it—for the sake of all our people, too.”

There’s a brief silence after you finish speaking. Chara reaches out and rests a hand on your back in the interim, quiet but supportive.

“Asriel,” your father says. His voice is a little choked, and when you look at him, his eyes are watery. “That is a truly splendid idea.”

 _It’s a worthy area of study,_ Gaster signs in agreement. _For my remaining years of work, I will do my best to get Ms. Alphys and her assistants a strong start._ Alphys doesn’t ask anyone to translate or interpret—she blushes and smiles, in fact, so it seems like she’s got a working knowledge of sign language already.

“Hm.” Prase folds their arms and considers you, their expression neutral. “I’m a little surprised that you’re willing to tackle this, given…” Their gaze flicks to Chara, and they trail off.

“Given what?” you ask.

“Prase and I have talked about this a little before,” Chara says. “There is one other solution available to you, if working with Alphys and other Royal Scientists in the future doesn’t yield results quickly enough.”

You barely have to tilt your head in confusion before Prase sighs. “There are five humans living here right now,” they explain. “It’s only been fifteen years since Chara fell, Asriel. I’ve heard from Innig and Rufus that Liron specifically decided to investigate the mountain because it’s—let’s say a well-known destination for children with circumstances like the ones each of us left.” From Papyrus’ blank expression, this has flown over his head, but next to him Sans is frowning. “More might come in the future. And humans don’t live as long as monsters do—at best, our lifespans are something like seventy to a hundred years long. Even for those of you who can’t live a thousand or so years like Gerson, or aren’t Boss Monsters, that’s very short.

“We all love the monsters. You’ve been good to us, and kind, and we want to help you if we can. I can’t speak for everyone, of course, but some of us…” Prase shrugs. “When we reach the end of our natural lives, we would very much be willing to donate our souls to science, as it were. Conceivably, you might have a full seven souls or near that a hundred years from now. It’s still a nonviolent solution to the problem. You would just have to be patient.”

“Prase,” Sans says. “That’s just—”

But he can’t seem to find the words. Gaster rests a hand on Prase’s shoulder. They go on staring at you, never averting their gaze from your own even once, and for the first time in a good few years you remember just how creepy their silvery gray eyes can be when they force eye contact.

Beside you, Chara’s not reacting. It seems they really have talked about this with Prase before. Maybe a whole lot.

Much as you love your mother’s cooking, you can feel yourself starting to lose your appetite.

“That’s!!!” Alphys interjects. Everyone turns to her, all at once, and she makes an abortive squawky noise in the back of her throat, but then she rallies and soldiers straight on, clench-fisted and sweaty-foreheaded and blushing. “That’s a backup plan! Okay! B-but!! I d-don’t think it will be necessary! Because! It’s still p-p-possible that we m-might get real results b-before then!”

You swallow. “Alphys is right,” you say. “I’m… really grateful that you and all the other fallen humans care so much about us monsters, to be willing to make a gesture like that. But that solution really s—stinks,” you correct yourself mid-syllable, suddenly very mindful of your mother’s upraised eyebrows. “You said ages ago that you missed seeing the sunrise, right? You deserve the chance to see it again. And Rufus, he deserves to have burgers made with real meat, and Innig deserves to be able to dance in front of much bigger audiences, and Liron deserves to learn magic from real human sorcerers, if we can find any. And Chara, you deserve to find all the books you loved as a kid again, instead of hoping that someone will throw them away and I’ll pick them up in good condition, and you deserve all the materials to celebrate your holidays properly, because it’s not _fair_ that you have to make do with substitutes and stuff we scrounge up for you.

“I want us to make it to the surface with _no_ sacrifice,” you go on. “Not _as little sacrifice as we can manage,_ I really mean _none._ You and Chara and Rufus and Innig and Liron, you’re my subjects too, and I have a duty to ensure your well-being and do for you what I’d do for anyone else. Heck, it’s not just _duty,_ because I know all of you personally and I care about you. All of you should have the same chance to make it to see the outside world just like everyone else. So, I’m sorry, but that plan’s not good enough.”

And to your surprise, Prase actually smiles.

“Yeah,” they say. “I like your idea a whole lot better than ours. So I’ll do what I can to help on the scientific side.”

Chara’s hand finds yours beneath the table and squeezes it. You squeeze back, gently as you can manage, although that urge is coming over you again—to hold them close and make sure that they’re solid and alive. For now you try to content yourself with the steady thrum of their pulse where their wrist presses against the heel of your palm.

Across the table, too, Papyrus has gripped Prase’s shirt in one small bony hand. He doesn’t say anything to them, or yank or tug or anything—he just holds. Prase slings an arm around his shoulders, reeling him into their side, or as close as they can without pulling him out of his chair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” they tell him, soothing, gentle.

“Good!” he says. “Good.”

Privately, you resolve to read him every one of your shared favorite picture books tonight, from Goodnight Moon to Beryl’s Box to the entire Fluffy Bunny series if he can stay awake for it all.

“Still,” your mother says, “I am very impressed that you are so accomplished already, Alphys. You constructed a… robot, was it not? Solely from spare parts found at the Waterfall dump? I must commend your educators.”

“Oh,” Alphys says, startling in her seat. “I, uh—I d-don’t actually, um, g-go to school much. Most of what I know is from b-books, or the undernet, or j-just tinkering.”

“How resourceful!” your mother exclaims, beaming. “But if you are unable to go to school for whatever reasons…”

“Here she goes,” Chara groans in an undertone.

“…then why don’t I help supplement your education however you need?”

“Huh boy,” you mumble.

Across the table, Prase and the skeleton brothers have already returned to eating, and Gaster and your father are looking on with fondness as your mother enthusiastically plies Alphys with the many benefits of homeschooling.

You think that maybe your mother just wants to get you on the throne as quickly as possible so that she can start tutoring when she’s regent.

“She’s good at this,” Chara whispers to you, tilting their head briefly in her direction. “I don’t think Alphys and the children even noticed.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “It… is pretty smooth.” Maybe you ought to give her more credit, if she can smooth over a situation this awkward so quickly that even you hardly notice her maneuvering.

“At least Alphys seems to have gone over well,” you continue.

Chara nods. “I think you two have good synergy,” they tell you. “You’ve made a good choice, as far as I can tell.”

You grin around your mouthful of stewed mushroom, and swallow it politely before speaking again. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

They just give you a slow, smoldering smile that sends shivers up your spine.

You end your meal in quiet, venturing a comment or two on the antics of the others rather than taking center stage. Beside you, Alphys has relaxed, and is chatting animatedly with your parents and the Gasters, communicating as much in gesture as in words.

Pride wells up in your chest. You know you picked the exact right person for the job.

 

 

At the end of the family conference, you and Alphys and the others decide that you’ll keep your exact pick for the next Royal Scientist quiet for now, only announcing that you have found someone and that they’ll assume their role with more prominence when they’re ready. It’ll be better for Alphys’ anxiety to ease into things slowly, and get her used to her work before she actually has to deal with any public attention.

Until she turns eighteen, she’ll be installed as one of Gaster’s lab assistants—as Gaster’s apprentice, learning from him and Prase and the people who have been there longest. She’ll be ready to take over by the time that Gaster wants to step down, that way, and everyone will be used to working with her, too. The lab workers are the only ones outside of your immediate social circle who actually know she’s your choice.

Your mother—predictably—makes good on her threat to homeschool Alphys, as well. Sometimes when you get home from work with your father, you trip over the two of them animatedly discussing advanced mathematics in the living room, or history (sometimes with Gerson and Liron and Innig attached). Sometimes Undyne is there too, sharing Alphys’ “classes”. You are sure it’s not your imagination that Alphys gets squeakier when she’s around.

Now that your decision is made, this leaves you free to worry about your coronation—to work on your speeches, to rehearse the actual ceremony, and to get fitted for your new formalwear.

You do your best to keep a straight face while discussing what you want with your tailors—a robe like your mother’s, but in darker blues and blacks and with a capelet and maybe an actual cape too—but you catch Chara raising their eyebrows at you from the other side of the fitting room and have to literally bite your tongue to keep from protesting that you’re not demanding your clothes to be made out of ever-shifting rainbow colors, so it’s _fine,_ leave you alone.

The tailors attending you and Chara both leave the room for a moment, and they come pull up a chair to sit next to you.

“Robes are just kind of what are expected of the royal family,” you say, curious, “but what have you decided on wearing, since you’re getting new clothes for this and all?”

“Waistcoat vest, probably,” Chara responds immediately. “They know me better than to suggest a dress or a tuxedo. Monsters may not care, but _I_ do, and both of those still feel a little too gendered to me.”

You hum, more as a filler than because you really understand. Your robes are basically a dress anyway, and you own a couple of kilts and skirts because they’re pretty and you like the swishy fabric, but humans apparently have a lot of rules about certain kinds of clothes only being for certain genders. It sounds complicated, and also arbitrary, and you’re glad to be a monster whenever Chara gets antsy about it.

“Also a circlet,” they add, nonchalant. “With horns. Because if _you_ are going to be self-indulgent and dress up as your old self-insert OC—” you squawk, because they might have had the decency to keep shut about it in front of other people, but it’s _embarrassing—_ “then _I_ have a right to revisit those terrible old drawings I used to do of what I would look like if I’d been properly born a Boss Monster like you all.”

“Wow,” you say, unsure of what else to say. You’d always felt weird about those, but Chara seemed reassured when you told them you’d still feel the same about them no matter their species or what they looked like on the outside, so you thought that chapter of your life was over.

Chara scratches at the tip of their nose and grins. They seem redder in the face than usual, you note. “I know,” they say. “I was surprised when they decided to run with it, but they think I’ll look majestic and proper in a circlet with horns. That I’ll look better as your honor guard like this, since I’m not wearing formal robes like the rest of you.

“The only thing is,” they go on, frowning now, “we can’t decide on the color scheme. They seem fine with leaving things up to me, so I’m not sure whether to wear my usual colors or the royal ones. On the one hand, I’m not a member of the royal family, so I might not be entitled to wear your colors. On the other, I am technically Asgore and Toriel’s ward, and I’m your personal guard, so I might be obligated to. What do you think?”

“Hmm,” you say. “Well, it is kind of an unprecedented situation, I guess. But it’s not that big a deal to me. You can wear whatever you want to wear. Just come in the colors that’ll make you happiest.”

“I was afraid you would say that,” Chara quips to you, rolling their eyes. “Anyway, we’ll have to give them their answer tomorrow. I have to meet up with Undyne and Innig and Rufus for exercise, and if you don’t work on your speech Toriel will make that disappointed face at you. I’ll think about it until then.”

“Sounds good to me,” you tell them, and lean in to kiss them, resting a hand on their shoulder and rubbing their upper arm with your thumb. When you part, you grin down at them. “Anyway, _I’ve_ already got my costume decided on, so I just have to do the actual fittings before I’ll be ready. It’s no skin off _my_ nose if you want to take your time.”

Chara rolls their eyes and slaps at your chest, but lightly, with no real annoyance behind the gesture. Their smile is warm throughout.

 

 

You don’t get to go back to the tailor’s the next day.

You don’t get to go back to the tailor’s because Chara gets their period. They haven’t had it in about two months now, which happens sometimes, but as if their body’s punishing them for escaping the inconvenience for so long, this is one of the really bad ones. You wake up much too early to Chara making low pained noises and breathing shallowly, the sheets soaked crimson beneath you both.

For a little while you seem to be staring at the stains from very far away. You forget where you are, and when—but Chara grips the sleeve of your pajama shirt weakly, and their body heat against your chest and stomach shocks you back into yourself. You’re on the wrong side of the room to get lost in old memories. Chara needs you awake and alert right now.

“Pain meds,” you say, but they shake their head and cling to you harder.

“I don’t want you to leave,” they tell you, strained. “I need—if I’m not with you, I’ll—forget. Remember.”

“Then let’s get you cleaned up instead,” you suggest, your heart clenching. “We can have Mom fix the sheets and get your medicine while we take care of that.”

“I,” Chara says, “okay,” and you scoop them up firmly in both arms before they can say anything else.

It’s hard to get the door open with your arms so occupied, but you shift Chara around a little to free up a hand. This seems to wake them up a little—they squirm briefly (“Asriel, no, you’re going to get all bloody!” “Too late,” you tell them, “and either way I don’t mind”) and wrap their arms around your neck instead, a better grip for them than your shirtfront.

You knock on your mother’s door, first softly, then more insistently, until she opens it, blinking at you in her nightgown.

She takes one look at you and Chara and says “oh” very quietly, snapping from groggy into business mode immediately. “What shall I do, my children?”

“We’re going to wash up,” you tell her. “Could you fix up the bedroom and set Chara out some new pajamas and also their meds please?”

“Of course,” she says. “Please, go and do not trouble yourselves with me. I will wake Gorey when I’m finished, and we will get tea and toast started.”

“Thanks,” you tell her, leaning in to bump your nose to hers, then rushing down the hall and towards the baths.

They’re still far enough away to be inconvenient in times like this, but they’re closer than they used to be back at your old home—foresight on your parents’ part, you guess, given that Chara’s human body sweats a lot more than yours and their hair gets dirty faster than your fur, and they need to clean off every few days at the absolute _least,_ unlike you. It’s a relief to get there, and you shut the door firmly behind yourself, peeling Chara out of their dirty pajamas with one hand as you get the water running with the other. They sprawl in the tub in a pose that you know has got to be punishing for their weak knees, so you switch the water from the faucet to the showerhead as quickly as you can and hold it close to them to sluice the blood and gore and mucus from their thighs.

Chara shakes their head, making a face. “You don’t have to do this, Ree,” they mumble, barely audible under the shower spray. “I can take care of it. It’s gross.”

“It’s fine,” you tell them. Well. It _is_ pretty gross, and even without their childhood suicide attempt it would be terrifying to watch them bleed so heavily. But you’re as used to it as you’re ever going to get, by now—Chara’s had these bad ones at least once or twice a year since you both turned twenty. “This’ll go quicker, and we can get you pads and tea and pain meds and get you all nice and clean and comfortable.”

They just nod and let you keep working without further protest. It’s probably a sign of how miserable they actually are.

In between showering Chara off, you strip out of your own pajama shirt—there are bloodstains all along the left arm where you’d been supporting Chara’s legs—and wash off your forearm for good measure. Your fur clumps up under the water, the skin underneath it prickling uncomfortably, but you keep your mouth shut because you sure as hell know you’re not the one in the worst distress here.

Your mother has the time to bring Chara new sleepwear and underwear and pads right here, and you help keep them supported while they towel off and get changed. Their legs buckle and fold whenever they try to walk on their own—you have to pluck them out of the middle of their fall twice—so you carry them back up to the main part of the house on your own.

Your parents have got tea and two slices of toast and Chara’s impressive host of medicine all set out on the table by the time you get back. Getting them situated in the chair, you note as you look over their shoulder that your mother has doubled their usual dose of the pills that dull their muscular pain.

Chara goes for their meds even before they so much as glance at their plate—they finish most of their tea between all the doses lined up for them, and with the amount of pain they must be in right now, you feel pretty safe in not needing to actually check to make sure. Chara’s still self-destructive sometimes, but they aren’t stupid, and you and they both know that they won’t be able to handle today without taking any painkillers.

But they only manage to eat three bites of their toast before they push their plate away and rest their head on the table with a groan.

“Do you want to go back to our room and rest a while?” you ask. Chara nods wordlessly, still-damp hair folding and tangling against the wood.

So you lift them up into your arms and carry them there. The sheets have already been exchanged for new ones. Now that Chara’s awake, you can probably avoid getting them quite as bad as they were earlier if you take them to wash off and change pads every few hours.

They’re quiet as they sit curled up against you, eyes shuttered, breath still rasping. You stroke their back and shoulders and wait.

“Do you want me to get your inhaler?” you ask. They haven’t actually needed to use it in years, not since before they started training and rebuilding their lung capacity, but they’ve been panting shallowly for an awfully long time now.

Chara shakes their head. “Not my lungs,” they say, voice hoarse. “Just hurts.”

“Okay,” you tell them, and kiss their forehead. “Do you want me to get something to read and distract you with?”

They open one eye and look up at you, despondent. “You can go to work,” they tell you. “I know it’s only stressing you out to watch me like this.”

“There is absolutely nowhere I’d rather be than here with you,” you tell them, cradling them close as tenderly as you can. “Mom and Dad understand that. They don’t expect me to be anywhere but here.”

“Oh,” Chara says, and they hide their face against your chest. “You can do what you want. You don’t—have to read to me or anything. But I won’t stop you, if you decide to.”

“Well, I do decide to,” you tell them, and you kiss the crown of their head because it’s all you can reach from this angle.

Your mother arrives with fresh teacups halfway through _Kitchen,_ for which you’re glad, because a novella is a whole lot more words to read than a speech, and you don’t want your throat to get sore. Chara doesn’t touch theirs, though, and like clockwork, they’re asleep as soon as you set the book down on the bedside table.

You look down at them for a moment. They’re sweaty and pale, the bags under their eyes are the worst they’ve been in years, their hair is plastered to their face unflatteringly, and they’re uncomfortably warm against you from what’s probably a low fever. They’re still bleeding, you know.

And what you told Chara themself was one of the truest things you’ve ever felt or said. You don’t want to be anywhere else in the underground, anywhere else on the entire earth. There’s no place you’d rather be than right here at their side, even if they’re asleep, even if they’re too tired and in pain to do anything but lay on you again when they wake up.

You ease them down to the bed carefully, hoping that you won’t wake them by jostling them, but they don’t stir when they’re lying flat on the mattress. You sneak out of the room in quiet, quiet steps.

You can hear your father doing dishes off in the kitchen; your mother is seated in her reading chair next to the hearth. You take a deep breath and approach her, trembling, fighting to keep your head high.

“Mom?” you say.

She looks up and regards you over the rims of her glasses. “What is it, my dear? It must be important, for you to have left Chara.”

You nod. “They’re sleeping, so I have a chance now, and—it is important.” You find yourself suddenly unable to meet her eyes, so you turn and look around the room instead. Some of Chara’s yarn is inexplicably propped atop the bookcase, a spare pair of needles crossed over one of your father’s scrapbooks. They left a book on the table yesterday, and it’s still there, next to their barely-touched plate, which your mother has politely left a napkin atop to keep the toast warm.

You love Chara so much you might die. Their presence is everywhere, even when they can’t be with you, and it’s overwhelming. You whirl back to your mother, clasping your hands together.

“I can’t actually go take care of anything now,” you preface, your traitor voice wavering a little. “But I know that you’d know, because you make Chara’s gloves yourself. I—I need to know their ring size.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, and she raises one hand to her mouth. In careful movements, she closes her book and gets to her feet. She’s a little less than half a head shorter than you—it’s not something you’re aware of usually, but when you’re face to face like that and don’t have anything to preoccupy yourself with, you realize again how small she seems now.

“Oh, Asriel,” she says, overcome, and she rests her warm steady hands on your shoulders. “I cannot believe that you are already prepared for this. It still seems like the two of you were only small children beginning to fall in love just yesterday. My son. I am so proud of you.”

You close your eyes and lean in. She presses her forehead to yours.

“I know their ring size,” she tells you. “I will write it on a note for you and leave it with your things for when you depart to run your errands next. Now, you go, and be with the one you love. I must break the news to your father.”

She gives your shoulders one last vigorous squeeze, and then sends you off with a little push. Her footsteps sound as light as yours feel.

You close the bedroom door behind you when you return, and retrieve the notes for your speech, sitting on the floor and stretching out your legs. It’s not like you’ll have anything better to do, until Chara wakes up anyway.

 

 

The second and third days of their period, Chara spends in weird depressive fugues, as is so common for these really bad ones, and you find yourself unable to leave their side for more than a few minutes at a time. They start to perk up after that, though, as their bleeding gets lighter.

You still call Prase in to hang around with them while you go out to get your errands done, though, because as little as you like each other, you know you can trust them to look after Chara.

You go to the tailor’s first, greeting the workers with apologies that it’s taken you so long to return for your fitting and an explanation that Chara has been unwell and won’t be able to come for another few days. They respond that this is fine, and to let Chara know that there’s enough time to wait until they’re feeling well enough to return on their own.

The robes that they have you try on are still held together with pins in places, and the tailor is checking you over meticulously, so you can’t twirl around in them. But oh, you want to. The sleeves are pristine white, and the long full skirts are crisp and fluid, the color of the air when you gaze towards the castle from the long overlook in Waterfall where mountain runoff sometimes causes it to rain underground. Your cape is a thinner material, pearly-pale silver and silky, wrapped around your shoulders too so that it will flare dramatically when you gesture with your arms.

But the capelet and its collar! You never asked such a thing of the tailors, but the fabric is studded with beautiful star patterns in carefully stitched silver thread. You keep looking at yourself in the mirror and catching your breath. Your locket stands out a mile where it rests on your chest, gold like an illustration of the sun, just as eye-catching as the Delta Rune inscribed on your front.

You don’t look like the Absolute God of Hyperdeath at all—when you were a kid, you drew grown-up you a lot skinnier, and without the big mane you have now. But you’re pretty sure that if you had the chance to show the shy pudgy boy you used to be what you look like right now, in these clothes, grown into all your muscle and fat and looking absolutely _majestic,_ he’d faint from joy. You look fantastic. You look way better than your old superpowered character ever could have.

“We’ll have the final adjustments done on these the day after tomorrow,” your tailor tells you, stepping away from you with a satisfied smile. “We will contact the castle as soon as they’re ready to pick up.”

“Thank you so much,” you tell them, grinning enormously.

Going to the jeweler’s is much, much more terrifying. The monster on staff is incredibly gentle when you explain to them what you need, handing them the slip of paper your mother gave you with Chara’s ring size written on it.

They promise it will be ready by the same time your new robes are. You thank them hoarsely, and flee.

 

 

You don’t get the call to come pick your things up until the end of the week, when Chara’s finally back to normal. The tailors have your robes all ready—they have you try everything on one last time to be absolutely sure—and the only reason you’re able to restrain yourself from doing a little twirl this time is because you made sure to wear your longest skirt here. You can satisfy the urge with that, probably.

The jeweler’s is next, and—

When they open the little box with the ring in it, you start to cry. There’s no possible way you could hide it—it’s just that perfect.

The ring itself is slim and pale gold, two little bands like stems or vines wrapping around to a gold-and-enamel flower that serves as the bed for the small sparkling diamond that sits in the center of its petals. There is absolutely nothing in this world that could be a more ideal design in your eyes; you hope that Chara likes it even half as much as you do.

(The jeweler tucks the ring box into the bag with your robes in them for you, and gives you tissues to blow your nose with for good measure. You apologize—and thank them—profusely.)

 

 

 

When you return home, Chara is outside waiting for you on the ramparts.

Up here, the diffuse light from the distant Barrier and the little openings and holes that lead to the surface frames their profile in silver. They look poised. Holy. But instead of grave and distracted, their expression is warm, and their eyes are fixed on you.

“Welcome back,” they say.

You open your mouth to reply. Your breath catches in your throat and the words won’t come out.

They cock their head to one side, still smiling, gently teasing. “Are you all right?”

You want to get to your knees and ask them right here, right now, but there’s a warring urge in you to sweep them up in your arms and weep—from the symmetry to your old memories, from how glad you are that you and they have made it this far. It’s been fifteen years. Fifteen whole _years._ The expanse of time is suddenly immediate and overwhelming.

“Asriel?” Chara says, frowning now, trotting up to you, reaching up to touch your face. “Is there something wrong?”

You fit your free arm around them, hand low on their waist, and pull them in, hugging them so closely that they yelp a little.

“I’m fine,” you say, and your voice cracks. “I just—I’m glad.”

They squirm in your embrace to get up on their toes, wriggling against your chest in a way that makes your face heat up, and kiss the corner of your mouth.

“It appears that someone’s misplaced his silver tongue,” they murmur, half-giggling.

“Ha ha,” you tell them, and catch their mouth full with your own, raking your teeth along their lower lip so that their breath stutters. “Very funny.”

Chara kisses you again, holding your face in both hands as they slide their tongue into your mouth to tease your own. Love, and other things, surge in you; you tighten your grip on them and whine into the eager well of their throat.

They pull back just barely, so that their lips still brush yours and their rushing breaths mingle with your own. “Ah, there it is,” they say brightly. “I had wondered, it would be such a shame to lose it—oh!”

Their gasp echoes against the castle walls as you nibble their jawline, pressing after the little play-bites with long strokes of your tongue, drinking in the taste of Chara’s skin here where their blood pounds most helplessly. Even more than you want to silence their wisecracking, you want to prove to them that you can hold them where they’re vulnerable and never, ever harm them.

When you ease off, Chara’s eyes are unfocused, their whole face red. Your heels are cold—they’ve gripped your skirt for purchase, probably, but tightening their hands has bunched the fabric up, dragging the hemline up to your knees. Both of you are shivering in suppressed excitement.

“Maybe we’d better take this inside,” you suggest, breathless.

Chara nods, closing their eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again to focus on your face. “It _is_ the middle of the day, still,” they agree. And they make a face, shrugging helplessly. “It’s also probably been a bit long for something quick to be quite plausible.”

You dip your head and nuzzle their cheek. “Yeah,” you say. “Don’t want to hurt you just when you’ve started feeling better.”

They stroke one side of your muzzle with soft fingertips, pressing a kiss to the other side. “You’re very sweet,” they inform you. So saying, they finally release the other side of your skirt, easing back out of your arms. “And you’ve got to put your things away, too.”

You’d nearly forgotten the bag still in your hand, and you look down at it awkwardly. “Guess I do,” you say, grinning.

Chara takes your open hand. “Come on,” they say, smiling.

When they pull, you follow.

 

 

(It’s almost worth having lost that would-be perfect moment, you think hazily much later, to hear Chara’s voice raised and breathless in such ecstatic joy again.)

 

 

A week passes, and then half of another, and you let dozens of would-be perfect moments slip like that—none of the words you can think of come out right, you get interrupted, you interrupt yourself, you chicken out. Over and over and over. And maybe you’re getting a little despondent about the whole deal.

You’ve taken to meeting with all your other friends once a week or so at Alphys’ place to watch cartoons and make Alphys eat something healthy every now and again. Tonight, in particular, you and Undyne are the only other monsters here—Mettaton is off pitching his idea for a variety television show elsewhere in Hotland, and Sans and Papyrus both have homework. All of the humans but Chara are present—Chara is finally going in to have their new formalwear fitted, and close enough to the line, too; your coronation is only a week away now.

This gives you exactly seven days left to feel sorry for yourself and generally act unprofessional, and you are _wallowing_ in it. You hardly even feel bad for it.

“Dude,” Rufus informs you with upraised eyebrows, gesturing at you sprawled over the floor with your shoulders leaned on the sofa and your feet lightly touching the cabinet Alphys rests her TV on. “You’re kinda in the way.”

“Leave me here to rot,” you groan, melodramatic as you can. “Can’t you see I’m _languishing,_ Rufus.”

“That’s real rough, buddy,” he says, patting your shoulder. “I need to get through, though.”

“You can jump,” you say lazily, sinking down further. “You’re athletic.”

“Nice,” he says, and goes around behind the sofa instead. “I’m totally hogging the popcorn and not letting you have any.”

“The corn shells just get stuck in my teeth, you can have it,” you tell him, closing your eyes and sinking lower yet.

“U-um!” Alphys says. “S-so, what shall we watch tonight?”

“I don’t suppose there’s anything that involves proposals,” you say, sighing, “because I could really, really use some references right about now.”

There’s a great rush of footsteps, and when you open your eyes, slightly alarmed, they’re all gathered around you—Alphys, Undyne, Prase, Rufus, Innig, and Liron, staring at you intently.

“Oh my god??? You’re finally gonna do it?!” Undyne all but screeches. “You’re gonna pop the question?!”

“Y……es?” you say.

“Oh my _god!”_ she crows, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you enthusiastically. “When are you gonna ask them?”

“That’s the problem,” you say, spreading your hands wide in disgust and letting them drop to your lap limply. “I keep trying and it keeps not working.”

“Just _go_ for it!” Rufus encourages, his eyes sparkling. “Be brave!! That’s why they call it taking the plunge!!!”

Prase sets a hand on his shoulder and reels him back, their expression mild. “He’s right, drumming up your courage is important, but I’d wait for a good opportunity before jumping in,” they say. “Chara might not take it too well if they feel put on the spot, so I’d recommend picking a time when you’re private and won’t be interrupted, not just when you think the atmosphere is right. And a time when you can give Chara the space to consider their answer. This is going to be a big moment for both of you, so you have to think about what Chara needs, not just what you do.”

“You’re probably right about that,” you say, and sigh. There really isn’t any guarantee that Chara won’t balk or panic if they feel pressured, and you don’t want to put them in a situation where they’d feel unsafe saying no. (You still really hope they won’t say no.) “I still don’t really know… _how_ to ask, though.”

“I think that’s something you’re going to have to think about on your own, though,” Innig says, raising an eyebrow at you, her lips quirked in amusement. “Even if Alphys has got a bunch of wedding-centric anime stashed away, Chara’s not in love with some bishounen on the other side of the screen. They like _you._ So you should propose to them _your_ way instead of imitating what a TV character would do.”

Alphys shrugs helplessly, grinning. “Y-you’re good at p-public speaking,” she agrees. “I-I think that you would do better using y-your own words, too.”

“I was afraid you guys would say that,” you say, and lean back to let your head hit the sofa again.

There’s a tug at your sleeve, and you open one eye to see that Liron is the one who wants your attention. Ze adjusts hir glasses and lets go of you once ze knows you’re listening.

“Also… you shouldn’t get so depressed just because it’s taking more than one try,” ze says. “If it’s important to you… stick with it.”

“Yeah!!” Undyne agrees. “Where’s your fighting spirit?? You’re gonna be king soon, you know! You got no room to be a big wimp about all this! If you love Chara, you gotta suck it up and say you want them to be your partner to their face!”

They’re all pushy about their advice, especially when this is really none of their business, but you’re cheered by it despite yourself. You heave one more sigh.

“You’re right,” you say. “You’re all right. I’ll do my best. Don’t—” You look down at your own hands, weaving your fingers together in your lap over the belt of your kilt. “Don’t, uh, actually tell them.”

“Nah, we’re just your cheerleaders,” Undyne says, patting your head roughly for all the world as if she’s the adult and you’re the teenager. “We’ll leave the actual proposing to you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say flatly. “Golly, you guys are the best friends a guy could ask for.”

“We know,” Rufus replies, gracefully ignoring your sarcasm. “We believe in you.”

“B-but for now, at least,” Alphys says, “who wants t-to eat dinner and watch Mew Mew Kissy Cutie and forget ab-bout all the things we h-have to worry about?”

“Me,” you say, raising your hand and making the others all laugh.

Undyne and the humans pile onto the sofa with the snack trays while Alphys fiddles with the DVD player. Liron, who was sitting on the far end before, remains on the floor next to you, crossing hir legs and leaning back against hir sister’s shin.

 

 

It’s so quiet outside the grand ballroom that you feel as though you could hear a shed whisker hit the carpet.

You thought you’d be terrified when this moment finally arrived, but now that you’re here you’re pretty sure you’ve broken through fear and come out on its other side, unnatural calm. You’re overly aware of everything around you—from your own slightly-fast pulse in your wrists and ears to the fine texture of the filigreed carpet under your feet and the stone of the walls.

Your mother and father are already in the great ballroom, giving the final speeches of their long careers as monarchs. All of monsterkind who can fit are in there with them, and camera crews too, to film the ceremony for everyone who can’t make it or doesn’t want to come. The restaurants and bars in town are apparently filled with people who couldn’t actually make it into the castle before it filled to capacity.

But you’re alone here in the hall, except for Undyne and Chara, who will escort you when it’s time for you to go in—Undyne as the captain of the Royal Guard, and Chara as your personal bodyguard.

Undyne is wearing a full suit of shiny plate armor, with only her helmet left off. Her hair is pulled back severely, and she has soft red and purple makeup accenting the lid of her good eye. Her eyepatch is, you’re pretty sure, new; it’s a lot cleaner and less beat-up than the ones she tends to wear to practice, anyway. If she’s nervous, she’s not showing it; she just watches the door, rapt, fins swept out as if to strain for the slightest trace of your father’s voice from beyond the double doors. Never mind that she’s already heard him practice his speech dozens of times during the rehearsals.

Chara is sedate where they stand at your shoulder, and looking at them fills the hollow pit of your stomach with warmth. Much as you’d laughed at the thought of them wearing a circlet with fake horns, now that you’re staring at them with it on, you can’t deny that it looks incredible on them. The horns themselves are thick and straight like your mother’s, albeit taller, and with the faintest backwards curve at their tips. The circlet dips into a point at the center of their forehead, smaller curves of gold making a heart shape upon their brow.

Their hair is brushed to perfect softness, but their face is unmade as far as you can tell—they still have dark bags under their eyes, and their lips and cheeks are no pinker than usual. The rest of them, though, is breathtaking: Their three-button waistcoat is perfectly tailored and accents the slim curves of their chest and waist like nothing else in their wardrobe. The sleeves of their blouse are full, the folds of their dress slacks are crisp, and their shoes are perfectly polished. Their cravat is held in place with a pin shaped in the sign of the Delta Rune to mark them for their connection to your family, and their knife is clipped, sheath and all, to the seam of the left pocket of their vest. You’ve never seen Chara look so professional.

They chose to wear their own colors, in the end: The fabric of their vest is soft green and its buttons and piping are gold, their sash is a deep red that brings out the color of their eyes, and their slacks are the same red-brown shade as their hair. _If it really doesn’t matter anyway, and it’s up to me, I guess I’ll go with green because it’ll match my knife better,_ you remember them saying, flippant, and you smile a little. There’s no denying how well these colors suit them.

You would have liked to see them in your colors, too, but you also want Chara to be comfortable if they have to perform in front of so many people. There’ll be other opportunities for that later—at least you hope there will be.

From inside the ballroom, there’s a great roar of applause. You take a deep breath, look to Undyne, and then look to Chara. Undyne grins hugely and nods to you, encouraging; Chara nods once, unsmiling but intense. You run your palms over the smooth skirts of your robe, straightening it out. The feeling of the fabric against your pads calms you down. You wonder idly if this is how Chara feels when they stroke your fur from nervousness.

 _Never been readier,_ you remind yourself as the double doors creak open.

Once they’ve settled with a boom, you inhale, exhale, and step forward firmly.

The red and gold carpet is lined on either side by members of the Royal Guard: The dogs from Snowdin, Undyne’s subordinates, Rufus. They all stand at attention, staring directly ahead, forming a corridor from you to the raised platform where your parents await, standing before the thrones set there. Instead of the usual two in the garden, there are three here, and the one in the center is empty.

Behind the Royal Guard, the chamber is absolutely packed with monsters. You try not to look to the sides too much—you feel like you’ll be swallowed up, crushed, if you do. You remember the story Chara told you once of one of the holidays they celebrate, about the prophet who made the seas part to lead his people to freedom.

You’ve only seen the seas in photographs, so you don’t really have any frame of reference, but you wonder if their floors are as quiet as this room. There’s only the clanking of Undyne’s armor as she follows you at your left shoulder, and Chara’s quiet footsteps at your right. There’s not so much as a cough or a rustle from the crowd.

You wonder, idly, what would happen if you snagged your foot on the carpet or on your robes and tripped. You do not trip. You do not even stumble. You glide, grave and with purpose. You don’t think you’ve ever moved this gracefully in your whole life.

And just like that, it’s over—you’re climbing the steps to stand before your parents. Undyne stops on the step right below yours, but Chara stays at your shoulder the whole time.

Your father nods to you, his molten gold eyes filled with emotion. You take one last deep breath and kneel before him, head slightly bowed.

The whole room holds its breath.

You watch as your father removes the crown from his own head and slowly, slowly lowers it to set it upon yours.

It’s light, incredibly so. Far too light, compared to all the responsibility it represents. It feels strange and alien against your fur, a foreign body. Even though your heart is swooping in your chest, you force yourself not to fidget. You’ll become accustomed to it in time.

“You may stand,” your father whispers to you. You lick your lips once out of nervousness and rise, slow so that the motion will be smooth and steady.

He looks so strange without the crown perched on his forehead. You’ve hardly ever seen him without it.

There are gray streaks in his beard, you realize distantly as he and your mother smile at you. And those wrinkles under your mother’s eyes, the faint spots where the white of her fur has darkened to cream, those weren’t there a few years ago.

You’re an adult, now. They’re old. They’ve always been old, but an ageless kind of old, centuries hiding behind bright eyes. That’s different now. You knew it was happening, distantly. That their bodies were aging as yours did, as their souls’ power trickled into yours. But realizing it viscerally like this makes you want to turn and run away, to fling your arms around them and apologize.

Their gazes on you, though, are kind and proud. Their belief in you is unshakable. Where you might falter and sink to your knees, their love buoys you up. Maybe it always has been.

You turn slowly to face the crowd.

“I present to you,” your father calls in a booming voice, “Asriel Dreemurr, King of the monsters!”

Undyne sinks to her knee with a clank. The guards kneel next, all as one, silent, their discipline shining through. The crowds behind them follow in waves.

Looking out upon them, you spot the Riverperson. You see Gaster, and Papyrus, and Sans, and Prase. You see Gerson, with Innig and Liron on either side of him. And there’s Alphys, over with her young friends. Everywhere you turn, there’s another face you recognize, downturned in respect and fealty.

You peek over your shoulder, uncertain, and are met with a shock: Neither of your parents are kneeling, but they have bowed their heads, both smiling still.

Turning back to face forward, though, you lock eyes with Chara.

They, alone out of everyone in the room, out of the entire Kingdom of Monsters, remain upright and proud. They don’t kneel. They don’t bow. They don’t so much as avoid your gaze. They look into your face directly, earnestly, the same way they always have.

In that instant, all the unease in you is burned clean.

You smile and nod to them, just slightly. Their eyes narrow, and the sides of their mouth curl up, pulling their lips into the old familiar smooth crescent.

“My people,” you say, and then: “everyone. Please, get to your feet.”

Slowly, they do: Undyne and the guards as one, the others more raggedly.

You reach out and take Chara’s hand. They weave their fingers through yours.

You take a deep breath and begin your speech.

 

 

Hours later, when festivities have devolved into dining and dancing, you lean towards your mother and say in an undertone, “I’m going to step out for a minute to take care of you-know-what.”

She smiles and nods to you. “Good luck, my son.”

You breathe out, thank her, and turn to face Chara, tapping their forearm lightly with one finger to get their attention. They raise an eyebrow at you, questioning; you tilt your head a little towards the doors nearest to you. They look puzzled, but they get up when you do, and quiet as mice you slip from the ballroom into the hall.

It’s darker here, and tons quieter; Chara relaxes in the light of the sconces, but you swallow hard and clench and unclench your hands to keep your cool. You lead them a little further down the hall, so that you won’t immediately be seen if someone opens the ballroom doors, and turn to face them. You pat the pocket of your robes. The tiny box is in there, safe.

“What is it, Your Majesty?” Chara asks, leaning back and grinning up at you, their tone relaxed and gently mocking. “I don’t suppose you’ve just gotten crowd-sick? You look too nervous for this to be an escape to settle your stomach.”

“Nah,” you tell them. “There was something I wanted to… I guess ask you, not talk to you about so much. I’ve been trying to find a good time for a while, but we’ve both been so busy. And we’re going to get much busier from here on out. A chance like this might not come again for a long time.”

“Okay,” Chara says, and spread their arms. “Lay it on me.”

They’re being a little less jokey than before, but they’re still brazen and amused. You can’t tell whether they’re trying to encourage you to relax or what.

You stick your hand in your pocket and take the box out.

Chara’s brow furrows a little bit, their smile fading slightly. Then their expression smooths out into blank astonishment all at once—they must realize what it is you’re holding.

Deep breath in. Exhale. Okay. “So,” you say. “You and I… well, I was pretty gone on you from the time we met. We’ve been a thing since we were eleven. We’ve been out to our parents, and to the public too, since we were eighteen. We live together, we work together, we take care of each other, I wake up next to you every morning, and it makes me so, so incredibly happy to have you with me. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved like this, Chara. You’re my partner in just about every way that matters. Just living every day with you makes everything that ought to be mundane and boring special. Because—you’re special, Chara. I can’t imagine living my life with anyone other than you.

“So what I want to know, is…” You swallow, steady your wavering voice, and open the ring box, turning it to show them its contents. Chara’s gaze drops to the flower-shaped ring and stays there, and they raise one hand in silence to cover their mouth. You think their fingers are trembling slightly, but maybe it’s just the lamplight. You couldn’t blame them if it’s not. You can’t believe your own hands are this steady. You feel utterly defenseless, like the slightest touch could turn your body to dust. “How do you feel, Chara? I’m ready to—to promise you. To make this official, to take what we have and seal it. But I want to know what you think. What you want to do.

“Will you marry me?”

Chara is silent for a long, long time, their eyes still on the ring. They barely blink. You bite your tongue and try to wait, force yourself not to press them to answer you right away.

At last, Chara lowers their hand from their face. They clasp both their hands at their middle, wind their fingers together and clench their hands so that their knuckles pale. They take a deep, deep breath.

“I can’t give you children,” they say.

“What?”

They close their eyes, take another deep breath, and tilt their chin up so that when their eyelids lift they’re staring straight at you.

“I can’t give you children,” they repeat. “There are many reasons why. I’m…” They shake their head and press their lips together for a moment. “My body is a mess. I don’t menstruate normally. Comparing my health to Prase’s and Rufus’, it’s easy to tell that much. I might not be able to conceive a child. I’m certainly in no state to carry one to term, let alone give birth. Besides, we’re different species. We might not be biologically similar enough to get pregnant. We have sex all the damn time, Ree; you come inside me more often than you don’t. If it could have happened, it ought to have by now.

“And even laying all of that aside, I—I don’t think I could handle being a parent,” they say. Their voice has started to take on a hysterical edge. “I don’t want to have babies, Asriel. I wouldn’t know what to do with them if I did. I don’t know how to care for a child. I’m so—terrified that my first instinct would be to imitate _my_ parents, instead of Asgore and Toriel. If I ever raised a hand to a child dependent on me—if I denied them meals, if I denied them shelter, if I beat them and refused to defend them when other people tried to hurt them, if I told them to die, if I called them ungrateful and disgusting—even once—even out of some sort of reflex—I would not be able to go on living.

“I have enough trouble taking care of myself. I would not be able to promise that I could give an infant the love and attention necessary to help it grow up happy and healthy. I can’t. I never want to get pregnant, I never want to give birth, I never want to raise a baby.

“But you,” they go on, beginning to laugh. They untangle their hands and raise a hand to rake their fingers through their hair, pushing their circlet back so that it presses hard into their forehead. “Ree, you adore children. You love being Papyrus’ honorary uncle. You’ve been so sweet to that little boy ever since he was a baby. And it’s not just him. You’re good with kids—don’t think I haven’t seen you making friends with Liron too.

“If you want to have babies of your own, you deserve that,” they say, and their eyes are glossy with tears, their mouth pulled into something closer to a grimace than a smile. “And I can’t give that to you. In every way, I am incapable of doing that for you. I would die for you, Asriel, but I cannot and will not bear you children of your own blood.”

“Chara,” you say, but they hold up a hand, and you stop.

“There’s more,” they tell you, though they wipe their eyes before they continue. “For as long as you’re childless, I will grow older without you while you stay young. We talked about this when you brought Alphys to meet us, a little. Humans don’t live very long even compared to your average monster. Oh, Ree, even if I stay by your side my entire life, I’ll be gone in the blink of an eye from your standpoint. I don’t know if either of us could take that.

“So are you absolutely sure?” they demand. Their eyes are so fierce. The deep color draws you in. The reflection of the fires lightens Chara’s irises to a red as bright as their soul—the color of determination, of hope. “Asriel Dreemurr, knowing and understanding all that, are you sure you really want to do this?”

“I am,” you say.

Chara draws in a sharp little breath. You think for a moment that they’re going to say something, but they remain silent.

“I do like kids,” you say, “and I wouldn’t mind having some of my own someday. But having a child is a decision we’d have to agree on together, and if you don’t want to do it, then that’s good enough for me. Your reasons for not wanting to have babies are good ones, and I respect them. I care a lot more about your well-being than whether I get to have biological offspring, gosh. Especially since I’m not the one who’d have to be pregnant for five whole months.”

“It’s—it’s nine, for humans, usually,” Chara says faintly, and you cringe.

“Nine is a _lot,”_ you say.

They nod, almost timid.

“And the stuff about how you and I would age… well. I don’t know what to do about that either. It’s something that can’t be changed as long as you’re human and I’m a Boss Monster. But I figure we’ll deal with it when we get there. We’re twenty-five, Chara, it’s still such a long ways away.”

Chara inhales, long and ragged, and then breathes out. Their face is wet.

You reach out with your right hand, the one you’re not balancing an engagement ring in, and wipe their cheeks dry. Tears keep dripping from their eyes, but you thumb each one away, patient.

“You’ve been thinking about all this hard stuff alone for a long time, huh,” you say gently.

Chara nods, leaning into your palm.

“I’m sorry you had to carry that all by yourself all this time,” you tell them. They sniffle. You stroke the line of their cheekbone. “But, Chara. Even with all that stuff? I still choose you. I choose you above everyone else in the world. All that doesn’t really matter to me. I love _you._ That’s so much bigger than your thoughts on whether or not to procreate or your lifespan. _You’re_ so much bigger and so much more than that. I’m ready to face all that with you—to take the future as it comes. If we’re together, none of that can scare me.”

Chara sniffles again. Their face is bright, bright red.

“It’s up to you, Chara,” you tell them. “I’m ready for anything. This is your choice now, and nobody else’s. Will you marry me?”

They take another deep, deep breath, and push your hand away to run both of their own over their face. They wipe their palms on their nice new slacks, and their face screwed up with the same determination you saw in them when they defeated you in combat four years ago, they swipe their arm out and snatch the ring box from your palm.

You open your mouth to—you don’t know what, but Chara ignores you, plucking the ring you had made for them from the cushion. They hold it up between their thumb and forefinger, turning it one way and then the other in the light as if admiring or appraising it—

And then, casual as anything, they slide it onto their left ring finger.

Your jaw drops.

Looking oddly satisfied, they close the now-empty box and slap it back into your outstretched palm. It glitters like a star on their hand as they plant their fists on their hips and grin at you fiercely.

“What do you think, idiot?” they say, voice still thick with tears.

You yell and wrap them up in both arms, lifting them off their feet and twirling in a circle. They’re laughing; so are you. They’re crying. You are too, now.

When your mouth meets theirs, they reach up and hold your face in both hands, gripping you fiercely. They are very solid in your arms—they taste like tears and the spicy tea they were drinking at the banquet table, and their breath huffs sloppy and ragged through the fur of your face. Their teeth click against yours briefly. They moan full-throated into you when you stroke the length of their tongue with yours, and they make you squeak when they suck on yours. Your crown slips on your forehead and clanks against their circlet, probably just about the least romantic sound you’ve ever kissed to. But even as you pull apart, gasping, you keep swooping back in for another kiss, and another, and another.

You’ll have to go back to the ballroom eventually. You’ll have to announce your engagement— _your engagement!!_ —to your people eventually. But for now—

For now, the whole world is you and Chara here in the gentle lamplit dark. And your heart has never felt so full.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic got fanart from [eristastic](http://eristastic.tumblr.com/post/144880428937/), [cafficnd](http://cafficnd.tumblr.com/post/144934037843/), and rainglazed ([liron](http://rainglazed.tumblr.com/post/151166120123), [more liron](http://rainglazed.tumblr.com/post/155186377960))! thank you!!!


End file.
